


Where I Want To Be

by Rhi (rhianon76)



Series: Cinnamon and Nutmeg [2]
Category: Fast & Furious (2009), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Canon Related, F/M, M/M, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhianon76/pseuds/Rhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Older, mellowed and more aware, still as volatile and intense as ever.</p><p>(Canon plot arc of fourth movie.)</p><div>
  <p>
    <a class="statcounter" href="http://statcounter.com/">
      <img/>
    </a>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dom's Reflections

_I am no Superman_

_I have no answers for you_

_I am no hero_

_Oh, that’s for sure._

~ Dave Matthews Band, “Where Are You Going”

 

“Officer O’Connor, off duty.”

Those words – Brian’s voice echoes in my head.  Way too often.

When the wind stirs through the palm trees.

When the tide crashes against the sand.

I hear his laugh sometimes.  At night, when everything else is quiet.

That’s what drove me back into the nearest city of any size.  For life, noise, distraction.

A flash of blonde hair in the crowd – a rare thing here – can make me freeze and stare.  The sun just stops shining, its warmth no longer heats my skin.

Barely more than a few weeks, really.  That’s all the longer I knew him.  And yet he got closer than anyone.  Before or since.  I see his face, the expression in his eyes, lost, begging, pleading without knowing for what, past the glint of his sidearm in the afternoon sun.

I wonder.  What happened to him.  A lot, actually.  But I never ask.  Never work up the nerve.  And Mia, she never offers anything.

He’s one of many ghosts that blot out the sun.

Letty got sick of them all, competing with whatever she saw in my gaze.  It didn’t take long either.  She needed excitement, energy, and I had no desire or drive left to give either to her.  I know she went back to the States a few times.  After the heat died down.  But I never went.  Too much guilt riding me.  Time doesn’t fade the blood on your hands.

No more nightmares of Lompoc.  I would be glad, except now I want them back.  Better that than what wakes me now – or keeps me from sleeping in the first place.  Vince, hanging on the semi by his arm, a handful of inches from the asphalt, at 70 miles an hour.  Screaming my name, his outstretched hand just a hairsbreadth away and it may as well be a mile.  The screech and groan of the Charger as it slams into the road again and again and again.  Some nights it’s my coffin.  I die watching Brian run toward me, my name on his lips like one of Jesse’s petitions to the car gods.  Other times, I’m alive and can’t move.  Buried alive in safety glass and steel, and there’s blood everywhere – Vince’s, Jesse’s, Letty’s, Brian’s.  Everyone’s but mine.

I sat staring at Letty sleep for a while, after that last petrol haul.  And I thought about a lot of things.  Our jacks were attracting attention, the wrong kind, and it made me think.  Hard.  Not something I let myself do too often.

What the hell was I doing?

Yeah the rush, you can’t beat that.  It pushed all the ghosts away.  I could forget and just live in the moment.  When that flaming tanker was rolling toward the car, and Letty was screaming at me… I found myself thinking.  If it had been Brian sitting there he’d never lose his cool.  Not for a moment.  He’d just look over at me and grin, trust that I knew to wait for the right moment to let it rip.

But it’s gone wrong before, those little heists.  Horrendously wrong.  And I sat there with the cool night breeze blowing in the big windows, made myself recall just how wrong it could go.  And who saved it from being worse than it was.

The one person that wasn’t here.  If the cops got their hands on me this time, I’d be destroying the gift Brian gave me.

The one that cost him more than I’ll ever know, I’m sure.  I see him with his sidearm raised, uncertainty in his expression.  But his voice.  Begging, yet firm as steel.  “No more running!”

I can’t do it, can’t squander his gift.  It’s all I have of him.

I left her most of my take from the haul.  Grabbed my pack and ran.


	2. Brian's Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tense conversations are usually awkward.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_I know what’s at stake_

_I know that I’ve let you down_

_If you give me a chance_

_And give me a break…_

_~ Lifehouse, “Whatever It Takes”_

 

 She wants to talk.  I have a bad feeling about it from the start, as soon as she says that.  That phrase is capable of striking fear into the hearts of men everywhere, right?  We suck at talking, as a general rule.  But I can’t refuse her when she asks.  She’s Dom’s, and I owe him so much – the way I see it – that I don’t even consider passing up a chance to make things right.  Even if it’s only by extension.

It’s a given that the past will come up, so I brace myself for it in advance.  Well, as best I can, anyway. There’s consolation, reassurance, in the fact that she can’t possibly know everything.

Down the street from the diner that Mia still runs, in a little coffee shop.  The afternoon sun glints off the picture window that fronts the place, blinds me for a moment as I look around trying to spot her.

“Over here, snowman.”  Her voice sounds quieter, as though the years have settled her somehow.  Anchored her into her bones.  Some of the attitude and bravado is gone.  Maybe it’s the hair that accentuates the changes.

I stop trying to figure it out, and tug on the leg of my baggy jeans before hiking my ass into the barstool chair across from hers.  “You look good, Letty.”

She grimaces, eyeing me critically.  “You don’t.”

I shrug off the implications of that and give her a smile.  The expression stopped reaching my eyes a few years back, not that anyone notices. I highly doubt she will.  “You said you wanted to talk. I just want you to know…I’m sorry for the way things went down.”

Her shoulders straighten, gaze narrows.  But she sits quietly, takes a long sip of her mocha latte.  “Mia told me you’re a Fed now.  She told me about what you did for Vince, too, and not just the helicopter.  And Dom?  Dom didn’t talk much.  But I saw the Supra, and he told me you gave him the keys.  So the way I see it, Brian?  You don’t have anything left to apologize for.  I know I was a bit of a hard-ass when you first showed up at the garage, but I’ve had a lot of time to think about things.  Dom’s not the same man he was.  We’ve all changed, I guess.”

Something clenches in my chest at the sound of his name.  I do my best to ignore it and brace my elbows on the table, trying to focus on her words.  Fold my hands together and stare at my knuckles.  But despite my efforts, my eyes burn and sting.  And that annoys me.  But I can’t make it stop.

“What is it you want, Letty?  Are you in trouble?”

She laughs, but the soft sound lacks humor.  “Nothing like that.  I want you to help me work a deal.  I want Dom to come back, free and clear, record wiped.  I’ve been back and forth across the border a few times over the years.  Been keeping tabs on the local racers and all, you know?  Heard about the new game in town, that boy Braga.  I’m thinking your guys want a piece of him, yeah?  Well, I got an in.  You know what I mean?”

I stare across the table.  It’s the longest speech I ever heard her give.  “You sure you want to do this?  What you’re talking about here, playing narc.  It’s dangerous, real dangerous.  You’re by yourself in there.  I won’t be able to help you if something goes wrong—”

“Why’d you give him the keys, Brian?”  Her words are soft, but she cuts into my attempt to dissuade her as easily as a sharp knife through butter.  Which is about all the resistance I have to offer, too.

I stare at her. This is what I wasn’t prepared to tackle.

I don’t want to discuss it.

Hell, I don’t even know why.

I try not to think about it anymore.

She keeps pushing though.  “Just because Mia didn’t talk to you don’t mean she didn’t pay attention.  There wasn’t much of a hunt for Dom.  All the heat was low-profile. They’re still waiting until he shows himself.  They went after you with a vengeance though; television, newspapers, live updates on sightings all through the south.  That was a fucking manhunt.  So tell me why.”

I stare out the window, resting my temple against my fists and seeing nothing.

“Alright.  You don’t have to say it, okay?  I’m not blind or stupid.  I don’t care, you get me?  I just want him free and clear.  The rest of it doesn’t matter.  Dom and I… well, it’s a long story.  But whatever you feel for him, I don’t hate you for it.”

Damn her intuition anyways.  Maybe it’s a good thing Mia stayed away from me all this time.  When I glance back at Letty, she’s watching me with a mild expression on her face, somewhere between pity and sympathy.  I want neither and it makes the anger swell up the back of my throat.

“It’s not like that.”

She just smiles around another sip of her latte.  “So you gonna do this with me?  Work me a deal with the Feds?  Braga, for Dom.  Think it’s a pretty hefty price to pay for a small-time ex-con, but whatever, you know?”

“This is dangerous.  Dom will pop my head if he ever finds out I helped you do this.”

“If it goes down right, it won’t matter.  If it goes wrong?”  She shrugs.  “It won’t matter, either.”

I grimace.  “What’s Mia say about this?”

“I didn’t tell her anything.  Just that I wanted to talk to you.”

“And how’d she know where to get hold of me?”

“The internet’s a fine thing, Brian O’Connor.  So is caller ID.  She might not have answered your calls, but she kept your number.  Takes a lot to burn bridges with a Toretto.  They’re good people, you know?”

"Yeah, well... I'm rather confident that I succeeded admirably in creating a big enough bonfire." I can't keep the cynicism from my voice. Too tired. "Look, we can do this. I won't ask again if you're sure. You want to back out? You do it now. Once we start this it has to be finished. One way or another. I won’t be able to help you out if you get stuck.”

“I get you.  We’re good.”

“Right.  You got my number.  Give me twelve hours to touch base with my boss and lay out the deal.  I’ll call you.”

One last smile, she got up and walked away.  It was the last I saw of her. 


	3. Dom's Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words don't always come easy. Sometimes they're not needed.
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)  
> 

_For 27 years I’ve been trying_

_To believe and confide in_

_Different people I’ve found._

~ The Cardigans, “Communication”

 

Mia’s broken voice comes over the long-distance connection like a knife.  “It’s Letty.  She’s been murdered.”

The world grinds to a halt around me.  Noisy crowd fades away.  She says something else, but I’m at the bottom of a well and her voice is echoing off the walls.

I feel numb. _Oh, Letty. Who’d you tangle with? Whoever it was, I’ll make them pay._ I remember our drives along the beaches, cruising. The way she smiled, the hard-ass look gone from her eyes. Enjoying life, nothing left to prove to anyone.

“Dom?  Dom!  Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.  When’s the funeral?”

“Two days from now.  Saturday, at eleven.  Her parents are coming down, but they gave me permission to put her in our family plot.  Next to Jesse.”

I shut my eyes as the wave of memories crashes over me.  “I’ll be there.”

“Bullshit.  They’re still looking for you, you know.  They’ll expect you to come back for this.  It’s not worth it, is it?  She wouldn’t want you to sit in jail because you wanted to see her casket go in the ground.”

“I ain’t stupid enough to walk into the funeral parlor.”

“God, you’re such a hard-headed bastard sometimes.” Fear and frustration color her words.

“You okay?”

She sighs into the phone.  “Yeah, I’m good.  The Feds stopped by though.  They’ve got someone watching the house.  Just… be careful, Dom.  You’re my favorite brother.”

I manage a bark of laughter.  “I’m your only brother.”

“Exactly,” and the line goes dead.  I lean back against the stucco building and stare up at a sky so bright and clear and blue it hurts to look at.  Reminds me of Brian’s eyes.  The details have begun to blur a little around the edges, but I still remember every moment of that afternoon at Neptune Netty’s.

The soft tenor of his voice, “long as we’re cool, Dom.”

Always.  I slide the shades down onto my nose and push away from the wall, ignore the warring sensations of anticipation, guilt, and remorse that roil through me. Someone is going to pay for this. With their life.

 

It hurts, having to watch Letty’s funeral from a distance. It’s better this way. Not everyone down there would be pleased to see me, least of all her family. But not being able to stand at my sister’s side, yeah that causes pain. She’s not alone, though. Even if it weren’t for my connections, she wouldn’t be. She always had her own.

I remember sitting there watching her sleep, the bedroom windows thrown wide to let in the cool night breeze. The curtains swirling. I walked away to protect her. From the bravado I infected her with. From the heat that would always follow me, wherever I went.

I remember, and doubt that I made the right choices.

Same as I doubted myself in the past.

I can’t change any of it. I carry the burden. She would want vengeance, I can give her that. The responsibility is mine.

They drove the cars to the cemetery. Letty would’ve laughed if she could see it. The colorful fleet of racers tucked up along the curb, like a flock of macaws.  Hector’s down there somewhere, I know.  Eddie, too.  Hearse and limousines provided by the funeral home.

I can’t even smile at the sight of the cars, though. They’re here because I failed. How many more of my crew will I kill? Jesse, Letty. Vince. Yeah, he still lives and breathes but not because of anything I did.

Brian Earl Spilner O’Conner.

Dark sedans, off out of the way.  Unmarked, screaming of badges.  Like crows and buzzards.  I recall Mia’s comment about the Feds and a twinge of rage tries to edge its way in again.  They’re harassing her, here?

That’s when I see him.  Dark suit, hair is shorter and darker, but I’d know that lean and lanky form anywhere.  Hands still crammed in his front pockets.  He’s not scanning the crowd of mourners huddled around the gravesite.  Nope, not him.

Brian O’Conner stares at the grave, the funeral. Then shifts to focus directly on the hillside overlooking the graveyard.  He knows I wouldn’t miss this, and he knows I’m not stupid.  Probably knows it better than I do, come to think of it.

He makes no indication that he suspects I’m here.  Just turns his back and walks to the nearest cruiser, slides into the seat and disappears from view.

I wonder if he bothered paying his respects to Mia.  As if she would even let him.

Wonder what the fuck is going on.  My instincts might have a history of sucking when it comes to him, but the alarms are definitely going off right now.

Might have been out of the area, but I kept a finger on the pulse of things easily enough.  Letty was a big source of that, but Hector and the rest of them didn’t let me down either.  Steady stream of information.  Even when I didn’t want it.

I want to talk to him. No, not talk. Words would be useless. My emotions are all over the place.  Seeing him again, even at such a distance, sends a tingle tracing down my spine. It’s intense. And it’s disconcerting. I remember the wind whipping through the Supra, his hand clenched on the stick shift, skin warm against my palm. His control, his accuracy. The car was a tool, and he wrung every ounce from it.

He was that way with his emotions, too. With himself. He was a tool, always completely under control. Snowman. Well, not always. I’m sure I witnessed the couple times he let that cool cucumber façade of his crack.

I don’t like that just this one glimpse awakens everything. Brings all of it back like it never went away.  That yearning to let him in. To want him close. To own him.  I got other priorities.  I didn’t come back for him.

It feels like it all happened just yesterday. Not years ago. My shoulder and ribs hurt. Echoes of old injuries long healed. Sense memory, Mia would call it.

Maybe I just need some closure. But that’s not why I came back.

It’s not.

This is about vengeance.  Retribution.  You don’t fuck with mine and walk away unscathed.  Brian sure as hell paid, in spades.  Still not sure how I feel about that. 

I can see him like it was yesterday.  Blood on his hand, holding the cell to his ear.  Rattling words that don’t register the right way in my head.  The surge of confusion.  Replaced quickly by pain.  And then rage.  Anger at myself, for not seeing what I knew was truth.  At Brian, for lying to me, with more than just words.  He lied with his eyes, his smiles; that easy companionship that felt so comfortable it was a second skin.  Weaseling his way into my tight little circle, with ulterior motives.  Weaseling other places, too, actually.  I can admit he got under my armor.  If he hadn’t, why the hell had it hurt so much?  Fuck, hurts still, sometimes.

When I let myself think about it.  Like now.

I stand there and stare down on the funeral, not seeing anything anymore.  Not really.  Just remembering.  I understand what Brian’s motives were.  For being undercover.  For breaking that cover.  Even for handing me the keys.

Or at least I think I do.  Or maybe I don’t, really.  Hell, I don’t know.  It doesn’t change the fact that I’m angry at him for doing what he did, betraying our trust.

Fuck that.  Betraying my trust.  I believed in him, when Vince didn’t want me to. I went against what I knew and gave him a chance. I connected with him in a way I haven’t with anyone, not even Letty. I loved her, still do, always will.

Brian is something different, something else. I’ll always wonder what his priorities are.

Wonder if he even knows what they are? That really pisses me off.

I’m not angry at him for breaking my sister’s heart, because he didn’t.

Yeah, we’re cool, I think, walking back to my wheels.  Always.  But that doesn’t change that I’m angry and want some fucking answers.

But not just from Brian.


	4. Brian's Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning to tell yourself the truth.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_When I was a boy, didn’t care about a thing_

_It was me and this world and a broken dream_

_I was blaming myself for all that was going wrong_

~ Papa Roach, “Lifeline”

 

That silly, ego-jacked Stasiac drags Mia into HQ for questioning. I knew he would try it. He thinks it’ll get him somewhere. The man has a hardon for Dom. I’m so tempted to tell him, “You’re not the first. Go jack off to his file and come back with a clear head.”

After all these years, what whack would think Dom told his sister anything? It would’ve cashed in on a lead long before now. Plausible deniability. Who would expect to get anything out of her, even if he had? She doesn’t deserve his infantile attempts at intimidation, nor his juvenile leering.

She’s relieved to escape the building. She doesn’t understand why I walk her out of there. The entire time, there’s this vibe coming off her. A brick wall between us. Suspicion. Probably thinks I’m trying some kind of good cop/bad cop intimidation tactic, no doubt. I don’t want anything from her, though. I don’t want Dom. Not like that.

She sits in the booth opposite me, stiff and tense. Her eyes, beautiful eyes—reminiscent of her brother, when I meet her gaze and focus on nothing else—are fierce with years of rage and hate, distrust. I deserve it. I absorb the negative and add it to the burden I carry. She looks as good as she ever did. Better, even. She wears maturity well.

I couldn’t have her brother without fucking shit up royally, couldn’t afford to get that close to an actual mark. Not and maintain any distance. So I settled for the less intense emotions I had for Mia. I loved her as well. Still do. In a completely different way, feelings on an entirely separate scale.

But she deserves better. They both do. I try to give the Toretto’s that, now.

“One thing has really bothered me, all this time.” She cants her head, just a fraction. Like a thug grip on a Glock. I brace myself for the impact. “Why’d you give him the keys, Brian? You did your job perfectly,” sarcasm coats her tone, tar sealant on asphalt, “up until that point. Why’d you let him walk away?”

 _So_ not the question I expect her to ask. I stare at her in disbelief for a few seconds, then study the expanse of Formica between us.

With calm clarity, the truth surfaces in my mind.

It’s so fucking simple.

_Because I love him._

I can’t tell her that though. She’ll laugh at me, won’t understand how I could’ve done all those things, lied to them, if that love was so authentic. So I have to try to find a way of explaining it that will translate properly for her. That will make sense. I stare at her in silence, unable to construct that explanation into actual words.

Why does the subject shift to her brother every time I talk to her?

This is not coincidence.

Maybe she’s more perceptive than I realize.

Because we never once talked about _our_ relationship. I only ever mentioned how I felt about her that one time, while trying to convince her that just because I was on UC assignment didn’t mean everything was a lie.

The good lies, the believable ones, always have a healthy measure of truth in them.

“I don’t know.” Give her the answer that’s mostly a lie, because the truth doesn’t much matter at this point.

I can love him from afar all I want. My emotions don’t change anything, can’t heal any wounds. Least of all hers. I can tell from the shift in her eyes, the tension communicating through her body, that she knows I know why.

Wily little devil. She almost smiles.

I realize as she pushes up from the booth and stalks away that she didn’t expect me to tell her anything. She didn’t ask to get an answer. Not the truth, at least. Her goal was to remind me.

Fuck.

 

“Bring him up, Toretto.”  I keep my voice level and even, but the control it takes to manage that, it frightens me. Adrenaline’s dumping into my bloodstream and my pulse hammers in my temple.  My gun dips down toward the floor, the muscles in my arms going lax.  It figures he would be able to ferret out the same leads as me, in less time.

I can’t believe he’s dangling the man out the window, holding two hundred pounds of dead weight like that.

Shit, he looks thinner.  Harder.  Dominic Toretto, distilled and concentrated.  That’s not a good thing.  Not in anyone’s world.

“O’Conner.  You gonna shoot me this time?”  His voice is a slow drawl, faint hints of South America lilting through the rumble as he looks over his shoulder at me.  There’s a distinct glint of anger in those dark eyes.  For breaking up his little tête-à-tête or something else entirely, I can’t distinguish. Probably a good bit of both.

Heat pools in my gut.  I should have braced myself for this… but how can you expect to have an even stronger response to someone, after so many years?  Why does he not even sound the slightest bit surprised?  I sure as hell am.

It’s not his presence that shocks me; I knew he was in town. There’s no way to brace for a resurging emotional response. Especially not when it coincides with a physical one, too. “Good to see you too, Toretto.  South America been treating you well?”

“I’m gonna kill this Braga.”

“And I’ll help you do it.  Just bring the man up, okay?”

The dangling victim screams something about working it out between the two of us later, when he’s not five seconds from turning into a sidewalk pancake.  The tendons cord in Dom’s neck as the man wriggles.

“Shut up,” he growls at the man. He’s not going to be able to hold on much longer.  I move further into the room, away from the door.  Giving Dom a clear escape route.  His dark gaze meets mine.

I jut my chin in the direction of the hall, mouth the word “go.”

The man twists in his double-fisted grasp; I see fingers scrambling for a grip on the window ledge.  Dom’s hands slip a fraction on the denim, but he just stands there, holding my gaze.

“This ain’t over.”  I can’t tell if he intends that as a threat or promise.  Coming from him, it’s both.  His face is devoid of expression, eyes dark and flat and dead.  Like a part of him has died.  Letty.

“No, it’s not.” Assurance, laced heavy with resignation.  It hurts to see him in such pain. I’m willing to take whatever he dishes out to me, because I deserve it more than he knows.  I’ve let him down again, and it would hurt more now than it ever did before – if I wasn’t numb.  With shock.

I don’t even hesitate when Stasiac comes at me. I just grab his head and slam him into the wall. Hard. This low-life piece of shit will not fuck with me. Who gives a shit if he wears a suit. It’s what I wish Dom had done to me, earlier. It’s what I deserve, and the pent-up guilt is eating at me. Caged and raging, I lash out in frustration.

Not that he doesn’t deserve that fucking broken nose. Maybe it’ll give him some character. And I have no idea who the good guy is. No idea who the bad guys are. Definitions always twist around topsy-turvy when Dom steps into the picture.

Because the focus always ends up being him. At least for me.

Two slots in the race, Park says.

Toretto’s got one.  I’ve got the other.

Head to head, just like old times. The prospect invigorates me like nothing has in some time. Nothing, except for the project car in its slip, roaring like a feral beast and stroking my memories.

_This time is going to be different, Dom. This time, I’m going to win._

Yeah, I’ve got something to prove.  Some respect to earn back the hard way.  And that’s more important to me than anything else when I climb out of the Skyline.  Not sure what I expected Dom to drive – the RX7, really Brian – but the tricked out Chevelle isn’t a surprise at all.  Leave it to him to bring old school Detroit muscle.  He looks good sitting behind the wheel of the gun-metal gray body, intimidating.  Just a bit.  He’s the one to beat in this race.  Because this time I know how good he really is, know what I’m running up against.

I’ve got an edge though.  Or at least I think I do, because I’m not the same inexperienced buster he thinks I am.

When the Chevelle eases up to the line to my right, I’m not in the least surprised.  I rev the Skyline and look over at him.  Smooth scalp, expressionless face.  But those eyes. My heart skips a beat and tries to claw out of my chest. Emotional pain manifesting physically, it triggers adrenaline. Just the motivation I need.

“A lot has changed, Dom.”  Since the last time I edged up to him at a stoplight.  Since that first time I punched NOS in a street race.  Since I turned my back and walked away after handing him the keys.  I don’t know which I mean.  All of them, I guess; but more, so much more.  Since I betrayed your trust.  Since I lied to you about everything – except the one thing that mattered most, and no I don’t expect you to believe me.  I know I have to earn back his trust, earn back his respect.  The price won’t be a cheap one.

Just saying his name makes the pain ratchet higher, to a new plateau.

Just seeing him, this close, throws more fuel on the fire.

“You’re right.”  Lips pursing into a tense line around those words.  Dark chocolate gaze steadily meeting mine.  Confident, all business.  Cold, efficient, focused.  Nothing personal.  But he has no doubt he’ll beat me.  _And then you better watch your back,_ his eyes tell me; _then, it’ll get personal._


	5. Dom's Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some connections are too strong to break.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_Who do you need,_

_who do you love,_

_when you come undone?_

 ~ Duran Duran

 

Brian drifts through the turn, tight as you please, Skyline tucked and neat.  Big, heavy Chevelle can’t do it quite as gracefully, and I know it.  Feel the ass end slide over, the jolt of steel frame on fiberglass.  It sends a chill through me. Not sorry, no less than he deserves. But it triggers memories. Of my father.

And gives me an idea.

“You are one quarter mile from your destination.”

I look over at Brian.  He’s looking at me.

It’s on, damn it.  Show me what you got, Snowman.

His jaw clenches, and I nod at him.  He guns the Skyline, shifts and starts to draw away.

Fuck that.  I punch the NOS.  Early, way too damn early, but I know he knows it too, and this big-block, heavy-metal beast doesn’t have the same acceleration as that rice-burner.  Speed, plenty of that.

Sure enough, he takes the bait.  Always was a cocky motherfucker.  Comes sliding up to pass me finally.

“Still a buster,” a smile curling my lips.  With a firm nudge to his rear quarter-panel, I send Brian into a spin.  Dirty move.  The one that killed my dad.  But Brian’s a good driver, and I watch in the rear-view mirror as he pulls the car safely back under control, sliding to a halt.

If he hadn’t recovered, I would’ve stopped. Race be damned, it’s not worth his life. Whatever’s happened, he’s still my crew. My mechanic. Whether he likes it or not.

I need this win, and Brian knows it.  He’s a Fed, he can bull his way in elsewhere.  I got no such option, and no way will I lose to him.  Even if it means driving dirty.  Fuck the twinge of guilt I feel as I turn the car off and climb out.

“That’s bullshit!”  Brian’s voice does things to my nerve endings that I don’t expect.  Instead of just hearing his voice, I feel it on every inch of my skin.  Nerve endings tingling, his proximity makes me feel alive again. Reawakens little pieces that died with the news of Letty’s death. It’s a jolt. Like a paramedic sticking paddles on your chest and yelling, “Clear!”

“I had you.  Had you beat.  You cheated!”

Brian makes a scene because it’s expected, on some level – he has that “squeaky clean” vibe, it’s how people see him. It’s what they expect, and he _was_ cheated out of a clean win.  I ain’t gonna be the one to tell them the truth, they sure don’t deserve it. I look him in the eye, offering a challenge of another sort.  Brian can wiggle his way out of and around and through just about anything; I know it.  It’s there for anyone to see… turning loose an ex-con wanted for high-jacking, walking away from his badge completely, and yet here he stands a legit federal agent on another UC assignment.  Maybe he always was. A legit federal agent. Mia tipped me off on that one, before I saw him in his suit. That’s not an angle I’d considered until just now. And it opens up an entirely different world of possibilities.

If that’s the case, he’s damn good.

Brian is, if nothing else, a survivor.  He looked damn fine in that navy uniform. Not as good as he does in a worn-out tee and sun-faded denim; that side of him is more authentic than the badge and uniform. I can see the scars still, new ones, see what it cost him over the years.  The price he’s paid for handing me my freedom and walking away.

The blond meets my gaze. That hue haunted me for the past few years. The blue that will always remind me of the Brazilian sky, the turquoise ocean. I’ve missed that. I’ve missed _him_. The banter, the companionship, that unspoken understanding. Words so rarely needed.

He wears their badge, but he’s still mine.

His left eye twitches.  The argument deflates from him.  Tension in his back and shoulders tells me he isn’t happy.  Offended, disrespected, pissed; anything but happy.

Brian drives away in his mangled car.  This thing between us is far from settled.

Fenix’s driver is taken out the next morning.

That night, he’s there at Braga’s house for the party.  He’s the first thing I see when I walk in. The sight of him stops me in my tracks. All that long body bent practically in half, sighting down a cue to line up a shot.  My reaction is visceral and immediate, from flaccid to half-mast so fast my vision tunnels a little.

Not surprised to see him at all.  Pleased, actually.  Man looks good bent over like that.  And that’s not the years in Lompoc talking, either.  That’s pure Brian. The way I remember him.

Always has been.  I try not to stare.  Too many questions about if, and how, we know each other will make it difficult.  Brian looks so different, though.  The blonde curls are gone; I can’t seem to get over that.  But so is the easy smile, the vibrant energy that infected everyone around him.  He must feel me watching him; Brian glances up from the shot, finds me in the crowd with laser-sight accuracy, and I head for an empty spot at the bar.

I need a Corona.

Brian slides onto the barstool beside me.  I lean an elbow on the bar and turn toward him, prop a lug-soled boot up on a rung of Brian’s seat so my knee nudges into the outside of the cop’s thigh. Not sure if I’m trying to make him nervous, or anchor myself. That bond is still there, stretching between us as strong as ever. As though it never broke. Maybe it didn’t.

The blond seems more than just a bit twitchy.  “Wondering what’s keeping me from telling them you’re a cop?”

“Probably the same thing that keeps me from telling them why you’re really here,” he retorts without missing a beat.  Sharp, caustic, shields up.  On guard and ready to defend himself.

I don’t agree with him though.  Because it stopped mattering what Brian was.  Cop or fed or whatever, the man’s a friend.  Mine.  Maybe not in the way I thought, before I knew the truth.  But still mine.  I’m certain of it.  So certain, in fact, that I take my foot down, prop my elbows on the bar, and lean in toward Brian until my lips are a breath away from his ear.  All up in his personal space.

“Don’t matter to me that you’re a cop.  You and I both know we’re here for the same reason.  Just got different ways of doing things.  Right?”

Brian turns his head, watching me out of the corner of his eye. If he turns any further we’ll be locking lips instead of talking.  Not that I’m averse to the prospect, but there’s a time and place for everything. This is neither.

“Sure, Dom.”  His gaze flicks past me, eyes narrowing in warning.  “Business before pleasure, yeah?”

I ease off and take a swig of beer.  Smooth as you please.  Brian seems to breathe a little easier without all that Toretto up in his personal space.  A lot of man to contend with, no matter how he went about it.  And I’m curious to find out just how he’d go about it, actually.

Campos slaps us on the back like we’re friends from the old neighborhood, leads us off to sit with him.  The man’s not an idiot.  It’s readily apparent the two of us have history, and as I hold Brian’s gaze over Campos’ head, I know the cop will go along with whatever I choose to say.  He’ll have my back, and to hell with the consequences.  Mine.  My mechanic, my cop.  Oh, the irony.

The relaxed grin that eases onto Brian’s face when I say, “he used to… date my sister,” was totally worth the unnecessary pause I tossed into the sentence.

The rest of it is so much water under the bridge.

It isn’t until I’m giving Giselle a description—of what I consciously assume to be Letty, only to discover I’m describing Brian—that a few things piece together in my mind.

So I hunt down the cop. Before he has a chance to disappear altogether.  Like the damned ghost he is.  I have no intentions of interfering with Brian doing things his own way.  Hell, we both ended up at the same man’s apartment, by totally different routes.  That speaks for itself, as far as I’m concerned.  Braga’s a lower priority once I’ve seen the Gran Torino.  I want me a piece of Fenix.  The bigger, the better.

“Follow me.”  My whisper rumbles into Brian’s ear from behind and triggers a shudder.  Slight, but he doesn’t manage to suppress it.  I can even see the goose bumps rising on his arms.

“Damn you, Toretto.  A little warning next time?”  Brian growls and slides into the Skyline.

I turn around, walking backwards to hold Brian’s gaze through the windshield.  “And where would the fun be in that, buster?”  Find a grin, somewhere, but its fleeting at best.  Chevelle starts with a roar and Brian trails the Skyline in my wake.

I don’t know where I’m going.  Head into the hills, let the Chevelle rip through the turns and up the grades until my shoulders and wrists ache from the stress and strain of driving.  Joints do that sometimes, years and abuse taking their toll.  The weather is colder here, the change makes everything seem to ache like it didn’t while I was down south.

Don’t know how long it takes before I get wherever I’m going.  Pull off the road at an overlook, the city a rabid blanket of stars swarming on the ground.

Brian shuts the Skyline off, hips the door shut, and props his ass on the hood of the Chevelle beside me, rubber-soled sneakers on the chrome bumper.  Forearms folded over his knees, he watches me stare out into the endless night.  Waits.

“Mia doesn’t want me to do this.”

“Letty probably wouldn’t want you to either, Dom.  But she’d understand why you’re doing it.”

I glance over.  “Mia doesn’t.  Do you?” 

He takes a deep breath. Shoulders lifting. Still long and whipcord lean. Needs some meat on them bones.  “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

“Really.”

Brian’s throat convulses as he swallows, and I look at him.  Really look at him.  He’s a faded, hardened, and weathered version of the man I knew five years ago.  There are faint lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, creases along his cheeks, grooves between his brows.  Signs of age, collecting slowly like dirt settling into the details of a paint job.  It’s been so long, though, that I see them all so clearly.  Sadness tightens my throat.

“Do you really, Brian O’Conner.  Have you figured out yet why you gave me your keys?”

Brian’s face shows no response, seems totally frozen for a heartbeat.  Then he licks his lips.  “Wasn’t it enough of a reason that I owed you a car?”  Voice sounds kinda rough.

“No.  That cost you a helluva lot more than just a car.”

“And I cost you a lot more than the car was worth, don’t you think?”

“Your career.  Your credibility.  You cost me more than those were worth to you?”

Brian unfolds his arms and straightens, feet sliding to the ground.  Long, wiry body leaning in close.  “Fine.  You want me to say it, Dominic Toretto?  Yes.  Standing there in the street by the wreck of the Charger – hell, the wreck of your life – my lies and choices had cost you more than my future was worth to me.”

He’s got it all wrong. My choices were what cost me those things. A long time before he came along, in fact. “Your choices saved lives.  The least of which was mine, Bri.”

A glimmer of the old energy flicks through Brian’s gaze, eyes as dark and colorless as the nocturnal landscape.  “The least?”  There’s a hitch in his tone that makes me drop my arms and shift back a little in surprise.  “The least.  You’ve got to be shitting me, man.”

Brian moves away suddenly, carding his hands through his short-cropped hair.  Long fingers fisting, finding no purchase.  When there’s a buffer of space between us, he turns back.  Points a finger at me, radiating emotion, intensity, passion. “You weren’t the least of anything.  You were the only reason I did any of it.  Damn you.” Damn if he isn’t every bit as uplifting as he ever was. Pick a feeling and mash the pedal.  “My choices saved lives.  So the fuck what.  If you had died in that Charger, my choices wouldn’t have meant shit.  The price I paid… whatever it was, whatever it might be, was worth it.  Because you’re standing here, living and breathing – free – and being a thick-skulled dickwad.”

An owl hooted mournfully in the silence that followed.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Brian shakes his head, hands crammed back in his jeans, shoulders hunched.  “You don’t owe me squat.  I made my decisions of my own free will.  Nobody forced me.  I chose where my loyalties lie, and I don’t regret that.”

One corner of my mouth pulls up in a smirk.  “That’s good, Bri.”  Brace my hands on the warm steel of the Chevelle’s hood.  “Can’t think of anyone else I’d ever want at my back.”

My voice soothes Brian’s nerves. Knew it would.  Can see the lines of his body relax. Like luring a skittish creature, the fed steps closer.  “Yeah?  Why’s that?”

I cant my head to the side a fraction. Does he not see it? Or does he just need to know that I do? “That loyalty cost you more than anyone would want to pay.  With the exception of Mia.”  Brian edges closer, a shadow amongst shadows.  Even the moonlight is too weak to pick out more than basic forms.  “You really think someone else would have done that?”

His gaze slides away, toward the Skyline.  Not seeing anything.  Remembering.

I watch the pensive curve of his shoulders in silence.  Then decide to pull him back.  “Officer Brian O’Conner.  Off-duty.”  That does the trick, the blonde’s head swiveling around.  “What, you think I didn’t notice that?  You think I’d be so blinded by rage ‘cause you lied to me?  That I wouldn’t notice there weren’t any cops?  Until they were coming after you?”

I ease off the hood of the car.  High time I met Brian halfway.  The man looks like a skittish dog on the street corner.  Desperate, ready to react at the first sign of hostility.  This is a side of him I’ve never seen.  He wouldn’t step away, wouldn’t flinch – but one wrong move, and this stray who thought all his loyalties had been abandoned wouldn’t hesitate to move into the source of hostility and danger and attack.  Viciously.

Nobody would ever accuse Brian of backing down from a fight.  Of any kind.

“It’s really good to see you again, snowman.”  To hell with halfway.  I walk up to him, hook a hand at the nape of his neck.  Pull Brian’s forehead down until it bumps against mine.  Bristly soft hair tickles my fingers.  I hold him there, run my thumb over the silky skin behind Brian’s ear.  Watch those night-dark blue eyes close in increments, feel the weight of the man’s head lean into my touch.  “You miss me while I was gone?”

Can’t decide if my words trigger it.  Can’t tell if that crucial moment is more melt or crumble, but Brian’s entire body just loses rigidity, arms wrapping around my chest, stubble-coarse cheek scuffing over mine until his forehead hits my shoulder.

Hot, moist breath against my neck.  I wrap my free arm around Brian’s waist, feel something ease behind my ribs, can’t say why.  Brian’s arm tightens, pulling closer until I can feel every inch of muscle and bone in the man.  No soft curves, heat everywhere.  Radiating into me, chest and abdomen, pooling in my gut.  Intensifies when my fingertips brush bare skin just above the waistline of Brian’s jeans, soft flesh, hot and smooth at the small of his back.

I don’t know what this is, with Brian.  I never have.

It defies logic and definition.

And the more it haunts me, the more I know that putting labels on things isn’t something I do well.

“Missed you every day.”  Brian’s voice is quiet, hoarse and muffled against my neck, lips brushing feather-soft.  Whether deliberate or not, it sends a shuddering tingle straight down my spine.  “Thought I was hallucinating, back in Park’s apartment.”


	6. Brian's Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are reasons why he never touched me.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_I saw you again_

_I knew just where you’d be_

_I’ll stop this real soon_

_When you’re back_

_Safe with me_

~ Dash Berlin “Never Cry Again”

 

I feel the vibration of Dom’s laughter in my chest and tighten my arms around him. Stopped caring what anyone but Dom thinks about things.  Well, with the exception of Rome, perhaps. But my relationship with Dom exists outside of Rome’s opinion, and that will never change.

His fingers stroke my neck, thumb caressing the edge of my jaw.  How long has it been since I let anyone touch me?  Don’t know.  Can’t remember; can’t think with Dom’s skin against mine.  He probably knows it, too – maybe he always has, maybe it’s the reason he never used casual physical contact with me as he did the rest of his team.

“Not gonna break down on me, are ya?” He slides his hand up under the back of my t-shirt, touch rough and firm, strong, trail of heat like banked embers.  Exploring, oblivious, tracing with curious fingertips.  Makes me aware of my own body, every inch of skin, miles of it, sensual texture of spine and muscle.  Can feel every rib, the clear delineation of shoulder blades as Dom’s calloused touch outlines each.

“No.”  I convulse in pleasure beneath his touch and loosen my grip, wanting to move away without giving the need any thought.  My strength is no match for Dom’s.  And he keeps me right where I am.  “Will, if you don’t let go of me.”  But oh god, please don’t you do dare let go.  No way I can say those words for him to hear.

He hears them anyway.  He always did.  “So what.  I might join you.  We’re entitled now and then.”  Dom buries his face in my neck, feel eyelashes brush my skin as he shuts his eyes, presses close and inhales.  Feel the moisture wetting my neck, his face.  My hands clench into fists against his back, focused on nothing but Dom, the faint scents of soap, motor oil, gasoline, and musk.  God, I love that mixture.

We break down, but hold each other up.  Manage to remain standing.  Cheek to cheek, chest to chest.  Not bothering to analyze what it is.  We know it doesn’t matter, right then.

I lose myself in it.  One hand sliding under the hem of Dom’s shirt, the other roaming over his smooth scalp – between the two, sensory overload isn’t far off.  My body feels … alive.  For the first time since … that first race.

The exhilaration of a NOS-punch will forever be associated with Dom.

“Shit.”  I curse and try to disentangle myself – from a friend, God, my only friend – know the moment the ex-con cottons on to my uncontrollable reaction, he’ll go ballistic.  What other option is there?

But Dom is a vice, doesn’t relent.  Steps into my struggle, one muscled thigh sliding between my legs.  Pressing against the thick bulge of my hardening erection.  Pushing his own into my hip with unabashed force.

And then his lips curl against my neck.  And teeth sink into skin and bruised muscle, hard.

It’s been too long.  It’s too emotional.  It’s too much.  I feel my body tense, tingles racing down my spine, a quarter-mile sprint track straight to my groin.

Feels like I’m fifteen again, when orgasm slams through me.  All semblance of control shattered, scattered, hydroplaning.

I don’t know if I scream, or if my throat just hurts because I’m panting so damn hard.  Not much spare oxygen to be had with my face pressed into Dom’s neck.  I shift to rest my forehead against the pulse hammering beneath warm skin and muscle, hear Dom’s own ragged breath in my ear.  “Shit.”  Sound dazed and drifting, even to myself.

“God damn, Bri.”  Words less heard than felt, rumbling through Dom’s chest and into mine.  “That was hot.”

Too limp and loose to bother putting up some show of protest and pulling away. Can’t be assed to play it off and pretend it isn’t what it is.  Would just end up on my ass in the dirt.  Don’t search too hard for something to say.  There isn’t anything that can be said in that moment.  The silence works just fine.  The rhythmic tandem of our breathing.  The pulse slowing beneath the grip I have on the back of Dom’s neck.

“Definitely not what I had in mind,” I finally say.  Feel laughter vibrate through the body still pressed against me.  “Haven’t done that since I was… god knows how old… couldn’t get it out fast enough.”

“Mean you never had a hand job while cranking down the road at a buck-twenty?”

I chuckle and run the bridge of my nose along the line of Dom’s jaw, and Dom lets his head fall back in an easy stretch.  Open and vulnerable and unconcerned.  The sensuality of that simple movement sends an aftershock through my bones.  And Dom smiles, a real smile, the first one I’ve seen from him in almost five years. 

I don’t think, can’t resist.  Just move, angling my mouth over Dom’s.  Not certain if the moment of stillness in the man is surprise or resistance.  It doesn’t last any longer than it takes for me to register it happens, then it’s gone and the man’s lips and tongue and mouth and teeth are wrestling with mine, devouring, hungry, intense.  Holding nothing back.

Just like anything else Dom does, thorough and furious.

I think I might have moaned, deep in the back of my throat, somewhere between shutting my eyes and feeling Dom’s tongue delve into my mouth.  Those calloused hands bracketing my hips, fingertips digging in hard enough to leave bruises above the waistline of my low-slung jeans.  Can’t bring myself to care; I leave him to it and trace the contours of Dom’s smooth scalp, memorizing every dip, scar, and ridge from brow to jaw and everywhere in between.  Find a spot somewhere between the base of his ear and the line of his jaw that makes a quiver echo through the man’s entire body.  Trail my mouth away from Dom’s lips to explore that intriguing spot with tongue and teeth.  The tremor is accompanied by a moan that, with an amplifier, could register as a class 5 earthquake on the Richter scale.

“Damn.”  I feel the word vibrate into my body; it makes my dick twitch. The things his voice does to me. He could control me with a few well-chosen syllables. Dom’s hands clamp harder on my hips, pull me closer.  “Got something in … the car for you.  Almost forgot.”


	7. Dom's Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is so dangerous. And feels so good.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_Take what you need,_

_take what you need from me._

~The Goo Goo Dolls, “Stay With You”

 

Brian’s lips go still against my neck.  He lifts his head in fractions, as if forcing himself away.  Eyes hooded, dazed.  Unfocused.  That expression of lust has me licking my lips, wanting to devour him.  Wonder how far back in time those feelings reach, the ones I can see exposed.

For a few moments all I can do is stare at him. That gaze. I have to swallow, hard, just to form words.  “Shot glasses.  Two of them.  One of ‘em’s Campo.  Saw him come out of the room.”

“And the other?”

“Whoever was with him.”

Brian’s hands tighten on my neck, thumbs sliding along my jaw.  “How’d you know?”

“Saw where you went.”  Would’ve narrowed my eyes at the blonde, how slow can he be, but it wouldn’t have the impact I want.  “Might not have a badge but I ain’t stupid.”

Brian’s touch falls away, head comes up sharply.  “Never thought you were.”  He crams his hands back into his pockets.  Makes his jeans ride down even further.  “I should take them back to the field office.  Get them running the prints.  It’ll take a while.”  Lips twist into a grimace.  Gaze wandering everywhere to avoid looking me in the face.

Unless there’s something really interesting crouching on the roof of the Chevelle?  I got no idea what just happened any more than Brian does.  Run a thumb along the hip bone jutting against my palm.  Brian exhales slowly, eyes widening.  But he looks at me.  So I lean in and drag my lips over Brian’s mouth, grinning.  “Better now?”

“It’s relative.”  Brian’s voice is husky, words formed slowly.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“How’s that work.”  I trail my mouth over to the line of Brian’s jaw and drag my teeth over the day’s growth of stubble.  The blonde’s head moves like his neck muscles just lose all rigidity.  Surprises me.  Once was a coincidence, but this…  Forming coherent thoughts is difficult when Brian makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat every time I put my teeth to the man’s skin.  When the heavy erection hiding in denim twitches every time I sink my teeth in and bite down.  “Like that?”  Redundant question, but my brain cells aren’t firing in any kind of logical order.

Brian’s response is a growl and a long-fingered hand clamping down on the back of my head.  Not holding, but definitely encouraging.  “Talk too much,” Brain comments, half distracted, panting again, obviously not aware of the words he’s forming.

Me and chatty don’t belong in the same sentence.  I smile against Brian’s neck, glad I succeeded in short circuiting a few connections in that too-quick head.  Might not be talkative, but that don’t mean I can’t use my mouth.

And I’m definitely eager to use my mouth.  Brian’s skin tastes like musk and salt, smells faintly of the ocean.  Does he still surf?  Slide a hand up Brian’s side, over his ribs, imagine all that smooth warm flesh bare to the sun, wet and glistening and tasting of salt and brine and Brian.

I growl and bite down hard just above the man’s collarbone, slide my hand around to grab Brian’s ass.  Just enough to anchor, to grind my hips forward, give us both some friction.  If Brian gets me any more aroused, I might go blind or something.  Sensory overload.  Threatening to fry the circuits.  Sparks will start flying off my skin any minute now.

And then Brian slides his tongue along the rim of my ear, sucks the lobe into his mouth, and I really do go blind.  Well, close my eyes, but I ain’t seeing anything anyways.  All I can feel are the waves of heat and pleasure radiating from every point of contact, no matter how small.  Washing down through me, fingers tingling, hands shaking, and damn my cock hasn’t been this hard since I was a hormone-driven eighteen-year-old.  Rock my hips forward, hard, hissing in a ragged lungful of air through the filter of Brian’s scent, rolling off his skin like an aphrodisiac.

Damn, the man should be a controlled substance.

Because there’s a distinct possibility that some of this is due to general sexual frustration.  But not all of it.  Not this intensity, this level of reaction.  This is feeding off the chemistry that’s always flowed between us, from the moment our eyes locked in the diner.

My weight shifts, Brian pushing against me.  Hands guiding me backward.  Solid steel beneath my ass. My muscles give out finally, can feel the tremors in them. I pull Brian forward, into me, not caring if the hood dents under our weight. Pull him with me, on top of me as I ease back, mouths fused together suddenly, mashing lips and teeth, tongues entwined, tangled, tasting, thrusting, Brian’s groin grinding down into mine.

I growl so long and low that I can feel the sound vibrate through Brian in my hands, and the man writhes against me like he’s overdosed on pheromones.  It’s too much.  And not enough.

It’ll never be enough.

This is dangerous.

Brian pulls back slightly; warm fingers fumbling with my fly, brush against my abdomen.  I lift my head and nip the man’s flushed lower lip between my teeth, suck on the flesh to get more of Brian’s taste.  Addicting.

“Fuck.  Wanna taste you.”

I grunt, body going limp.  Head thumps back onto the hood.  “Sneak across the border.  Back in town a week.  Gonna get hauled in for indecent exposure.”  Have to laugh, then, as Brian’s deft fingers expose my groin to the night air.  Hiss at the relief of pressure on my too-hard cock as his grip replaces the feel of denim.

Brian looks up from focusing on his hands.  Eyes glazed with lust and sensation, no trace of that ‘cop’ mask.  “Talking too much.”  His fingers – god, those beautiful fingers that I’ve stared at, watched handle tools so often, so long ago – wrap around my shaft.

I take a long, deep breath.  Grab the back of Brian’s neck with one hand and trail the fingers of my other over those flushed, kiss-swollen lips.  “You’re the only one who thinks so.”

Brian’s gaze flicks up, taking in our surroundings quickly.  “Yep. I’m the only one here.”  I stare at those lips as they curl into a smile.  And then slowly, so slowly it’s like he’s flexing a cramped muscle that hasn’t been used in forever, Brian’s smile transforms into one of those thousand-watt creatures that I recall so well.

Can’t help but smile back, eyes hooded as Brian slides his body down mine.  Prop myself up on my elbows, but not sure what holds me up when the moist heat of Brian’s tongue swirls around the head of my dick.  The tip of his tongue teasing the slit, lips clamping onto my glans, sucking up the pre-cum.

Doesn’t take much to push me over the edge.  Just seeing Brian’s fingers encircling me, feeling his grip, the damp heat of his mouth, is enough to do it.  It’s Brian. My entire body tenses, abdominal muscles standing up in stark relief, thighs clenching like a vise onto Brian’s broad shoulders.  Brian swallows as my cock twitches, and every nerve ending in my body tingles, an engine punched with NOS.  Hips jerk up off the hood, body clenching as the orgasm rolls over me, wave after wave that won’t stop, and the world goes black.

Hear the thud of my body against the hood as if it’s happening to someone else.  Hardly feel the ache in the back of my head.  Can’t move if I wanted to.  Brian’s weight slides back up my body, and I don’t feel the slightest desire to move.  Lips brush my mouth, tongue tracing the gapped space between, and then I have to remind myself to breathe through my nose because Brian’s invading me, the tang of cum lacing the man’s intoxicating flavor.  And I want all of it.

Want Brian, and nothing else matters.

Nothing at all.

Brian pulls back, mouth hovering a breath away.  Hooded night-dark gaze studying me, satisfied twist to his lips.  “Now you can talk.”

“Can’t.”  Panting, grinning.

“That works too.”

Lift my hands, god my arms are heavy, run fingers up the back of Brian’s head, through his short-cropped hair.  Watch those eyes slide shut the rest of the way, head cant sideways, pushing into the caress as my thumbs run over Brian’s temples.  Hair stands up every which way.  I run my hands down and do it again.  “Miss the curls.”

“Do you,” slips out in between moans, an octave lower than Brian’s normal voice.

“Yeah.  Used to look like a halo.  Sun-bleached gold.”  Twenty percent angel, eighty percent devil.  Easier to talk now, to breathe.  Heart not trying to hammer its way out of my chest between my ribs.

Brian’s full weight presses into me, stretched out on me, and it feels good.  The way the corner of the man’s mouth twitches when I talk, it does something to me.  Doesn’t even matter that the Chevelle’s hood doesn’t make a very soft mattress.  Even if I’m getting old and my back doesn’t think too highly of the arrangement.

“Yeah well… I’m more devil than angel, Dominic Toretto.”

Oh, god.  I bang my head back on the hood, stare up at the night sky and laugh, fingers moving slowly over Brian’s scalp.  Loving the feel of the soft, short nap; reminds me of chenille.  Silken animal pelt.

Brian shifts his weight, emits some vague sound, runs his fingertips over my head.  Can feel the chafe of invisible stubble between our skin.  Love the vibration of laughter echoing into Brian’s body.  The scent of sex and musk clinging to the air around us.  He rolls off to flop onto the hood on his back, stretched out beside me.  Pulls his heels up and props them on the bumper.

“I’ll keep them off you as much as I can, but they’re gonna be watching Mia.  And the house.”

Doesn’t even notice that he says “they”, not “we”, I think.  One thing I never had cause to question, Brian’s loyalty.  It was mine from the first.  Frightening, if I think about it too much.

“I’ll be fine, Bri,” because the man seems to need me to say it.

“Yeah.”  He sits up and slides forward off the hood, those barely-there sneakers silent against the ground.  “I know.  Knew it then, too.  Was the only thing that gave me the strength to walk away,” standing with his back to me, cramming them hands back in his pockets.  Shoulders too straight.  Spine like a rod.  Putting that fucking mask back on.

I push up off the hood, reaching out to snag the man by a belt loop before he can go haring off.  Plant my lug-soled boots on the ground and bodily drag Brian back toward me.  “Don’t.”

Brian stares.  Face looks so harsh, cheeks sunken, making the bones stand out.  “Don’t?”

I growl and hold his gaze.

The blank look melts away in increments, flush crawling up the fine complexion of his neck toward his face.  Eyes glance away, over his shoulder, staring at nothing.


	8. Brian's Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. This is all uncharted territory.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_Even the best fall down sometimes_

_Even the wrong words seem to rhyme_

_Out of the doubt that fills my mind_

_I somehow find that you and I collide_

~Howie Day, “Collide”

 

So ironic.  They put me on an undercover gig all those years ago, never figuring I’d turn into the perfect mole.  Sleeper cell for the notorious Dominic Toretto.  I really do need to get a grip on my sarcastic sense of humor.

It’s so pathetic how much I was – am – willing, even eager, to do for just the smallest sliver of anything from this man.  I threw my career away five years ago for a smile and a look.  Yeah, I was dragged in because of my familiarity with the racing world and its tweaks.  But now?  Now  I’ve got more resources at my disposal.  It would have to be one hell of a problem for me to resort to throwing it all away like that, just to fix things.

But I’d do it again, if Dom asked me to.  And even if he didn’t.

Makes me feel a bit like a whore.  Because I’m not real sure what I would’ve done, if Dom had pushed me away at some point in the last half hour.  It sends a chill of dread up my spine just thinking about it.

But he didn’t.  Dom didn’t push me away, not in the least.

Which kind of confuses me, but some things shouldn’t be analyzed too closely.

“Why?”  I blurt the question, not even knowing what I’m asking.  I really should get back to the field office before someone decides to get curious about where I am, why I’m parked out in nowhere.  Priorities and loyalties are one thing, obligations another entirely.

Dom tugs on my belt loop, pulling me closer until I’m bracketed by his splayed legs.  Not trapped, just conveniently deterred.  The man’s lips tense into a flat line.

“Use more words.”

I laugh, the bark a little harsh.  “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”  I glance over my shoulder at the scuffmarks in the dirt leading to the front of the Chevelle, the only evidence of any disarray.  Well, that and Dom’s state of semi-undress.  Hasn’t even bothered to tuck himself back into his pants.  Exposed and unconcerned.  As comfortable in my presence as in his own skin.  That realization puts a smile on my face, unintentionally. 

“What?”

I blink.  “Use more words.”

Dom growls, jerks at my jeans.  “You’re all over the place, Bri.”

That strikes a nerve.  “Five years, Dom.  What did you expect, exactly?”

“Nothing.”

“Really.  Can’t believe that.”

“You want something from me? Something more than the ‘thank you’ that you won’t accept?”

I do not want to have this discussion.  “You don’t owe me anything, Dom,” least of all verbal gratitude.

“Ditto,” punctuated with another yank on my jeans.  I glance down to make sure my clothing is still intact.  “How many more times we gonna do this.”

I blow out a gusty sigh through my nose, biting back frustration.  Close my eyes and remember the sensation of fond memories flooding through me as my Charger turned over that first time.  Feel the tension bleed from my body, one inch at a time.  Open my eyes and meet Dom’s gaze, take in his curious expression.

“Water under the bridge, is that it?”

Dom nods, a languid movement offset by the suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

“Where you got those glasses stashed?”  I look past the man’s shoulder, toward the passenger seat.  Dom twists to follow my gaze.

Then looks back at me with one eyebrow arched.  “You’re too wound up.  No wonder you’re so skinny.”  My back stiffens.  “No less… uplifting… than you ever were, Bri, but you don’t look that good.”

I twitch, remembering Letty’s observation.  But my lips curl into a smile.  “If I recall correctly, that was all about my driving.”

“You got a way with the gear shift.”

I roll my eyes, lift my head to stare up at the night sky.  Not too many visible stars, but there’s a few.  “Are you trying to flirt with me, Dom?”

The calloused hand on the nape of my neck is warm, and I let the pressure pull me toward him.  He comes up off the hood, spins me around and pushes me down onto it.  Heavy thighs still trapping my legs, now a vice pinning me in place.

“Probably shouldn’t do this here.  Again,” I add, bracing my hands on the hood.

Dom crosses his arms over his chest and lifts an eyebrow.  Great.

I’m more confused now than I’d been thirty minutes ago.  And I never realized how quiet it could be at night.  We must’ve scared off every cricket and trace of wildlife in a two mile radius.  I hadn’t thought I’d even screamed, let alone that loud.  The faint rumble of traffic and nightlife drift up from the city like white noise.

“You’re right.  We’re not young bucks anymore.”  Dom puts a lug-sole up on the chrome bumper and flexes his leg a few times, making the car bounce beneath him.  “Mattresses have more give.”

“Astounding observation, Doctor Toretto.”  I have to force the smile to come this time.  Dom learned to take running to a completely professional level of aptitude, and admittedly, I’m not much better with my penchant for turning my back and walking away.  This – whatever it is – wouldn’t last long, couldn’t.  I know that – know it would hurt us both, more than it had the first time.  “Take a lot of research to reach that conclusion?”

Dom twists his mouth, like he can’t decide whether to frown or smile.  I push up, chafe my hands on my jeans, and tug the man’s cargo pants back to rights.  Do it very carefully, avoiding even the slightest brush of fingers against the warm expanse of toned skin on that stomach.  Too tempting to lean forward and taste it.  I glance up to find Dom staring down at me as I ease the button through its hole.  The man licks his lips, thoughtful expression in his dark eyes, and I have to brace my hands back on the hood to keep them off the man.  Being this close to him is like putting a petty thief in a jewelry store on Rodeo Drive without the security system engaged.  Fucking dangerous.

I want to ask what we’re doing.  Words right there on the tip of my tongue.

But something tells me Dom doesn’t know any more than I do.

Damn it all to hell, I don’t know what to say.  But I don’t want to walk away.  Not again.  Don’t want Dom to let me, but I’m not so sure the man would stop me if I tried.

Screw it.  “What are we doing?”  Whispered, so softly that if the night air hadn’t been so still, the faintest breeze would have tugged to words away unheard.

“They got any reason to watch your place?”

I shake my head.

“Lead the way then, yeah?”  He pulls his foot down and steps back.

“Sure, Dom.”  I push off the car and head for the Skyline, grateful for some sort of direction.  Sleep sounds like just the thing.  I wouldn’t have even been at that party if not for the fact that it was expected – and I couldn’t pass up the chance to get a bead on Campos’ boss.

Our cars are more than just slightly conspicuous, but once we hit the streets of LA I let myself relax.  The rumble of the Chevelle tucked up against my rear bumper triggers a weird surge of undefined emotion in my chest every time that big-block revs.  I don’t try to analyze it.  Some things in life just don’t lend themselves to being understood.

My paycheck as a fed gives me enough to rent a small one-bedroom place in an out-of-the-way neighborhood in the Palisades.  Even on bad days it only takes an hour to get to work.  And it keeps me far away from the Toretto’s old neighborhood and stomping grounds.  I still ventured out some nights, when I wasn’t slaving away on the Charger, to watch the rice-burners lay rubber on the city streets a quarter mile at a time.  The ambience soothed some part of me that felt empty.  I even took the Charger out, but didn’t race.  If I felt the need to punch it, I cruised up the PCH and let the engine run.  And god, did it love to run.

When I finally kill the Skyline in my drive, Dom edges up and all but trades paint with my rear fender before revving one last time and climbing out.

Boy looks on the verge of a gasket blow.

“Hell and gone from Echo Park, I know,” just to diffuse the man’s mood and cut off anything he might have to say, while leading the way inside.  “That was kinda the point, actually.”

“God, Bri.  What you doing with the rest of your paycheck?”

I toss my keys on the coffee table and flick the light switch as I walk around the breakfast bar into the kitchen.  “Want a drink?”  No way in hell I’m telling Dom about the Charger.


	9. Dom's Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make a decision and commit to it, that's how I work.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_And when you can’t recognize_

_Anything solid_

_Where do you turn_

_When you can’t buy it?_

_Let your fears go_

_You might find your way back home._

~ Sunlounger feat. Zara, “Lost”

 

I close the door to his place and engage the lock behind me, slide my keys into a pocket. Then stand there, cross my arms and take it in.  The modest flat-screen TV flanked by pedestal speakers, the PS3 and the scattered collection of movies and games.  Car magazines, empty pizza box, and a few half-crushed soda cans on the nondescript coffee table.  Wide corduroy couch looks like it sees more action than the bed, wherever that is.  Hardwood floors with not a rug to be seen.  Bare walls.  Standing lamp in the corner.  Duffel bag gaping open along the wall, a dark t-shirt and worn runners screaming of a gym somewhere.

Brian walks out of the kitchen chugging bottled water and holds one out to me.  “Fresh out of Corona.”

Not entirely certain what I expected, but this minimalist décor isn’t it.  After four years, give or take, there still aren’t any pictures on the walls.  Can’t accuse the man of being a packrat.

“You wanna shower?”

Brian trying to be hospitable, it’s almost fucking funny.  I step into the man’s personal space and force myself not to smile.  “You sayin’ I stink?”  Comes out an octave lower than normal.  My voice never did figure out how to whisper.

Watching Brian’s throat work reminds me of how it felt when the man swallowed like that with his mouth full of me.  My dick twitches.  I know the dangers of acting without thinking, learned them a long time ago.  That’s not what this was; the heat pouring off Brian pulls at me across the space between us.  The welcome is there in the blue eyes, difficult to explain but so simple to read.

“Couldn’t say,” voice hoarse, the sound of a long abandoned engine trying to turn over.  “Kinda biased here.”

If I try to tell myself this is a bad idea again, and start listing the reasons… no.  That’s over-thinking things, not gonna do it.  Not everything is meant to last longer than the moment.  Letty was a good example of that.  The twinge of pain in my chest at that thought is a repulsive mixture of regret and guilt and fondness. It makes me want to grab the nearest sharp edge and dig it out.  Or maybe even a dull one. A rusty spoon.

I mourn her.  I do.  But in a numb way.  It makes me wonder just when I started mourning her, because I’ve felt this numbness for a while now.  It’s not recent.

Was it when Jesse died in my arms?  Watching his eyes glaze over as the life drained from him along with his blood?  Was it when the tips of Vince’s fingers brushed mine, and I couldn’t save him?  Or was it when that look of pain passed over Brian’s face, in that stretched moment before he held up the Supra’s keys?

When I drove off, and watched in the rear view mirror as Brian turned his back and walked away?  I recall the sensation that ripped through my chest.  I told myself it was just the ache of bruised ribs and a dislocated shoulder.  Emotion brought on from being knocked in the head too damned hard. Mild concussion does strange things.

Nothing at all to do with the niggling feeling that I was making a mistake, a huge mistake, leaving the man behind.

“So am I.”  Yeah, I’m biased whenever it involves Brian.

My cop.  I can admit that much.

Brian nods slowly.  “You want a shower.”  He backs away a step, glances toward the hallway.

“Do I.”

“Yeah.”

I trail after him, mirroring each step he takes down the hall in reverse. “Why’s that.”

“Because.” His gaze slides south, a slow journey down my body and back up.

Oh, it’s like that is it? He’s got a noticeable bulge there. I wouldn’t object to exploring his body, water-slicked skin and soap-slippery hands, pinning him against the cold tile. And the feel of him returning the exploration wouldn’t be unpleasant in the least.

It’s been a while since anyone touched me. Looked at me, into me. Not the way he does it. The way he always did.

I crave that intimacy. Like the first swig from an ice-cold brew after a long day in the garage. Like you could die happy.

It’s been too many years. Since his gaze left a trail of heat in its wake. The way he’s doing now. Drinking in every detail. It’s that old look from the diner. The same look, hopped up on a NOS-high after he “almost” beat me. When I invited him inside that first time, and he watched Letty drag me upstairs.

Countless times after that.

Not feeling guilty at all, watching the flex of his thighs, the roll of his shoulders. I look my fill, stalking him down the hall. I pin him against the bathroom door before he can twist the knob and push it open. He smiles that lopsided twist of his lips that makes me stare at his mouth.

He’s breathing a little ragged, holding my gaze inches from his, eyes a little dilated. Unwavering. I feel his hands on my hips, stroking skin, fisting my shirt. The air is cooler than the almost searing heat of his touch. Rough, suddenly. Branding me. Fingers gripping, grabbing. His mouth slams into mine, lips and teeth, tongue. Hungry.

I needed to be sure. That I don’t frighten him. That he won’t frighten himself. That I could handle this, too.

Don’t know why I bother hesitating. Nothing’s felt more natural in my life.

Like home.

I sink into him, relaxing against his body, feeling him. He’s lean, all hard bone and solid muscle. Support, stability. Resilience and strength. Enough to hold me. I soften his rough, devouring kiss with my hands bracketing his face, easing him back, away from me. His hands relax, arms encircling me.

He growls when I trace his lips with the tip of my tongue. Tasting him.

“Five years.” I whisper the words against his mouth, feel his hands fist in my shirt. “I want to savor this. You.” Just this once.

Maybe never again. Who knows. I’ll take this.

He leans into me, arms tightening. But his kiss is gentle, soft.

Trailing over the side of my face, my jaw. I tilt my head back and he explores my neck with his lips and tongue. God, it feels so good.

I need this. Him.

Tonight, he’s mine.

And I’m his.

No ghosts or demons. No past, no future. No responsibilities or duties or obligations here.

Just me and him.

I reach down and twist the knob on the bathroom door. We fall through the doorway together, stumbling and groping. There may be some growling and biting involved. I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that I want him under the spray of water with me. Miles of wet skin stroking against mine.

I don’t know if we even get each other clean at all.

But he lets me stroke us both off, his cock against mine, trapped between us. Warm skin, wet and slick, firm and hard because of me. I can feel him pulse as he cums. On my stomach, my hand, easing my grip on my cock.

God, he’s so beautiful it hurts.


	10. Brian's Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years of redirecting my emotions and feelings. Of ignoring the truth. It was how I survived.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_I had to find you_

_Tell you I need you_

_Tell you I set you apart_

_Tell me your secrets_

_And ask me your questions_

_Oh, let’s go back to the start_

~ Coldplay, “The Scientist”

 

I stare at the wall and try not to think about how good it felt sharing a shower with Dom. The feel of his calloused hand, stroking. I can’t think about it. Instead, I wonder how badly injured he was when I handed him the keys and walked away.  Who did he go to for help?  The man drove away with a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion.  Bruised ribs too, most likely.  Why didn’t I get back in the car and go with him?

The voice in the back of my head is more than willing to provide the answers.

Because you did more harm than good already.

Because he didn’t want you with him.

Because he would have left you in the dust if your roles had been switched.  He wouldn’t have come back for you, not when he heard the sirens in the distance.

I’ll die before I go back.  That’s what he said, and you believed him.

You didn’t deserve to be happy; you would have been happy with him, no matter where you were or what happened.

You didn’t deserve that after what you did to him.

The mattress shifts beneath Dom’s weight each time he moves.  Despite how big it is.  I do my best to stay still, waiting for my friend to drift off to sleep.  Know it won’t be as easy for me to do the same.  Know it, accept it.  I could always crash on the couch, but I still wouldn’t get any sleep.  Because Dom is in my house, under my roof, in my bed, holy shit, five years of nothing, not a word, not a postcard, not a whisper.

I knew he’d come back after what happened – that didn’t lessen the shock of reality.  The width of the man’s shoulders all but filling the frame of the window Park dangled from.  The profile of the man’s features when he glanced over his shoulder – damn, that stole the breath from my lungs.  If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve accused one of my fellow agents of standing behind me and hitting me with a tazer.  That one moment took me back to the first race, when I’d punched the NOS and looked over at Dom, just feet away as though our cars were parked next to each other somewhere.

Adrenaline, electricity, chemistry.

All there, like nothing else had ever happened, ever existed, ever come between us.

And Dom wanted to go on like nothing ever had. That’s how it seems, at least.

I don’t know how to do that.  Guilt and regret and remorse ride my ass like drafting rivals in a 500-mile NASCAR race.  Letting me do all the work, waiting for the perfect moment to slingshot out and blow my fucking doors off.

Not surprising, though.  I don’t know how to do much of anything when it comes to relationships.  Except walk away when things get thick.  Real easy to walk away from a bedridden man in a coma.  Real easy to walk away from a mother who seems inclined to ignore your existence.  Real easy, whenever things get difficult.

I did it to Dom once.  I don’t want to do it again.  I won’t, damn it.  I stare at the wall and swear I won’t walk away from the man.  If Dom wants me gone, this time he will have to walk away.  Period.  And I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks or says about it.

 

I don’t recall at what point I fell asleep.  When my mind surfaces again, though, I feel strange.  Warm, comfortable, and content in a way I haven’t been for some time.  At peace.  No urge to escape, to do something – like jump on a treadmill for an hour – to keep my mind blank.

The warm weight on my chest is … strange, but it feels nice.

Reminds me of Dom.

Smells like Dom.

I open my eyes.

Oh yeah.  It is Dom.

The man’s bald scalp is right there in front of me, cheek pressed to the right side of my chest.  Solid body sprawling over me, hand tucked warm against my right hip.  Legs all but intertwined.

Now that’s irony for you… a man like Dom, turning out to be a cuddler?

Makes me want to laugh, and that’s something I haven’t felt the urge to do in so long the sensation shocks me.

Pull my hand from under the pillow and run my fingertips over Dom’s scalp.  Fascinated and curious, wondering if it will feel like sandpaper with a few days’ growth on it.  Or does he shave it each morning the same way he does the rest of his face?  My memory is spotty, but I can’t recall ever seeing Dom with much in the way of facial hair, let alone scalp growth.

His skin looks smooth, but isn’t.  Feels like the grit of sandpaper, and I can imagine the burn it will leave behind on my chest if the man decided to do it.  That wouldn’t feel too good, but I doubt I’d stop him.

Dom chooses that moment to grunt, twitch, and shift his head.  I don’t want to deal with the man waking up.  I’m not ready for it.  So I stroke my fingertips over the man’s scalp again, slightly panicked and hoping to god the man is still asleep.

The caress seems to do the trick, which just makes me want to laugh even more.  Seriously?  Dom’s whole body feels like it goes limp against me when I resume dragging my fingers over the man’s scalp, in long strokes from forehead and temple to the nape of his neck.

I swear he’d probably be purring if it weren’t a physiological impossibility.

It feels strange, being able to touch him.  Being touched.  I avoided it, except for those few moments when I pulled him out of the Charger – that blaze in my memory like the afterimage from glancing into the sun.  And now the man is drowning me with it.

The desire to ask why is strong, an itch that wants scratching.  Right between the shoulder blades.

I shut my eyes and take a slow, deep breath.  Soak up the dragging weight of Dom atop me, the stubbly friction on the pads of my fingers.  From nape, to ear, around to the hollow behind his jaw.  Follow the solid jut of bone beneath the day’s growth of beard.  The wash of moist warmth, Dom’s slow exhale of breath.

To simply exist this way calms something in me.  Just like the first time I met Dom, and the man fixed something I didn’t know had broken. Here, like this – I don’t think this peace, for lack of any better term, is anything I’ve experienced before.

I probably won’t again.  But I don’t want to dwell on that.  Won’t let myself spoil this moment, the sensations, the swell of warmth pouring through me.  Nothing.  Nothing has ever felt like this.

Dom’s fingers twitch against my hip.  I can feel the heavy muscles in shoulders and chest as they flex and shift against me, though the man doesn’t make any effort to move.

What does he really think about what happened between us last night?  What’s happening now?  Friendship is one thing, but this is something else entirely.  I can’t put a word to it, but I’m not scrambling to label it either.  Whatever we have, this chemistry, this spark of electricity, of something; it was there from the first moment, it whispers of something deeper and more complex than simple friendship.

I hold no expectations.  I know better.  I’ve long since resigned myself to a lifetime of pessimism.  It is inevitable that others will let you down. It is inevitable that you let yourself down, too. Hell, I’m as human as the next person. I’m every bit as guilty of it as everyone else in my life, but that doesn’t change the fact that it will happen.  Because it will.  I trace the edge of Dom’s lower lip with my thumb and marvel at the man’s stillness, surrender, submission.

Really?  Dom, submissive?  Not in the general sense of the word, but still.  Then again, I never considered for a moment that the ex-con would willingly engage another man in this sort of intimate contact.

To be fair, I didn’t ever consider that I might do it myself, either.

I’m not gay.  I don’t stare at men on the street and think, “now there’s a fine ass.”

And yet… now that I think about it, I haven’t looked at a woman lately and thought that either. Though Mia holds a certain kind of attraction for me that hasn’t gone away. Yeah, I’m twisted but part of it is my brain whispering, _she is what Dom would be if he’d been born female._

She holds a special place in my heart. I'm fond of her. I remember seeing what might have been when I looked at her, before I blew my cover.

And yet that was something else entirely. Love, on a different level. Comparing it to this isn't possible. It doesn't compute.

This here, this...isn’t about gender.  It’s just about Dom.  Always has been.

Always will be, no matter what comes of this mess I’ve made of things.

It’s likely he’ll hate me all over again when he finds out the truth about Letty.

I feel myself stiffen with tension at that realization.  I know that, and I’m trying to savor him while I can.

But I should tell him, now before any of this – the UC op, Dom’s desire for vengeance and retribution – goes any further.

How do you tell the man you love that you were an instrument in the death of the woman he loved?  We’d be back at square one again, back in that field with the chopper wash buffeting my body, staring across the field of scrub at the man braced between door and car body, on the verge of sliding into the Honda.  Staring at a face full of disbelief, hurt, betrayal.

At eyes that scream, “how could you,” and “why?”

I trace my thumb over Dom’s lip again, feel the huff of breath, the rippling shudder of heat that echoes the sensation through my entire body.  Fingers tighten at my hip.

Remember the ache that filled me, watching Dom slide into the car and close the door.  The black Civic whip back onto the road and roar off.  That ache, like I’d just torn something out of my chest.  Watching something irreplaceable and fragile, be obliterated.  I spent the past five years believing it was irreparable. 

Feeling, though, is something I haven’t done in so long.  It felt good to feel, even if it was pain.

I followed Dom’s Chevelle in hopes of fixing things, somehow, not knowing how, not knowing if it was even possible.  Not knowing if I’d live to see the sun set.  Not really caring.  It wouldn’t matter; none of it would, if I only succeeded in betraying and alienating the man who means so much to me.

I pull my left hand free of the tangled pillows and slide my palm along Dom’s side, tracing the pattern of toned muscle, ribs.  Drinking in every inch, starving, craving, begging for something, anything, without understanding.

I crave the NOS-punch.

Yeah, I’m a junkie.  There’s no saving me.  I don’t want to be saved; I want to be destroyed, forever.  Again and again.  And again.  I’ll never get enough.

Dom turns his head, moving slow and deliberate, lips dragging over my hand to my shoulder.  Exploring, tasting, unhurried, savoring.  Feels like a low-current source of electricity is being trailed over me, flashing heat and pleasure and arousal through every inch of my body in one swift surge.  I must make some sort of sound, or maybe my breath just hitches… Dom pauses, pulls back and stares down at me.

Dark chocolate eyes hooded and half glazed with sleep.  It might be the best thing in the world, waking up to that expression.  And the person wearing it.  Dom slides his hand up my side, warm and calloused and male and triggering another wave of warmth that pools in my gut and this time I feel the breath hitch in my throat.  The corner of Dom’s mouth twitches up.  I stare, don’t want to blink, don’t want to miss a moment, a detail; I want to brand myself with this memory.

Dom licks his lip, that same nervous gesture I recall from years past, and it feels like the intervening time just falls away, that it was only yesterday we went cruising north up the PCH and Dom’s palm imprinted the top of my hand.  The ragged sound of my own breath sawing in and out of my chest seems distant; Dom looks at me through dark lashes, glancing down at my mouth, lowering his head.

Soft, warm, unexpected, Dom’s lips brushing against mine.  And in the next heartbeat all pretense of hesitation melts away in the flood of lust searing through me, NOS in a direct-feed port injection.  That’s how Jesse would’ve described it.

Hand clamped to the back of Dom’s head, I part my lips and feast on the man’s taste, kiss all teeth and tongue, sucking and licking and thrusting, blinded by sensation and the flavor of Dom’s mouth.  Remembering the taste of his skin, his flesh, his essence as it jetted down my throat.  Hungry, tongues probing and twining and stroking, needed more; anything, everything.  Fingers digging into the corded muscle on Dom’s neck, back. Slide my hand down, tracing the groove of his spine, following it like a stretch of highway.

Writhing, legs twining, Dom shifts atop me.  Finds the perfect spot and sighs through his nose, strong hands carding through my short hair, holding me still.  Head slanting, Dom delves deeper, furious with need.  Grinding his hips down, erection stroking my stomach alongside mine.  Cranking up the lust like shifting gears, and I grab at Dom’s butt, holding him close, wanting him closer, untangle our legs, open myself to the man, closer, closer, cradle his weight between my thighs.  Lock our legs back together, no escape.

God, not that he wants to.  If anything, Dom’s hands tighten.

I have no idea what I’m doing, why.  No room for thought or analysis.  It’s all sensation and feeling and lust and desire and big words that no longer mean anything to my muddled brain.

Probably some littler, more complicated ones too.  Whatever.

I just want to feel Dom orgasm, want to see that emotion frozen on the man’s face, the tremors of ecstasy shudder through his body, echo into mine.  Want to feel my world move again, like it did last night with Dom’s arms wrapped around me. His hand gripping me.

The rasp of the sheets, Dom’s thighs splayed wide, body no longer grinding but rocking, rhythmically, hard, persistent, wanting.  And I meet him, fall into the rhythm as easily as if I’ve been doing as much all my life, smooth as breathing, smiling, sleeping.  Chest heaving, heavy against mine, vibrating with unspoken sound, escalating toward crescendo, louder, the same pulsating rhythm as our bodies.  Impatient, needy, desperate, I slide my hand from Dom’s ass in between us, encircling our erections together in a single grip. The man gives a vicious thrust in response, fucking into my grip eagerly, mindlessly, focused on a single goal.  Every inch of him pressing against me, and the friction of heated, hard flesh on mine is exquisite, unbelievably intense, unlike anything I’ve felt before.  Mind-blowing.

 My entire body tightens, tingles, wave after wave of increasing pleasure until it teeters on the edge of pain before exploding through me, a surge of sensation from head to toe that pulls through me, to my groin, and escapes.  Again, and again, and again, and I don’t know if I grunt, or scream, or don’t make a sound.  Senses cease to register.  Except for the taste of Dom, on my tongue and lips.  Dom shudders against me then, following me over that precipice, and I tighten my grip on the man, legs and arms and body cradling him with heat and flesh and focus.  Until his muscles go limp; I loosen my hold, brush my bruised lips over the man’s head, inhaling the scent of Dom and our blended musk.  Feel my cock twitch, inhale deeply again, pressing nose and mouth to sweat-damp, flushed skin.

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.  Even if the rest of our surroundings blur and fray along the edges, ceasing to exist, all that is Dom remains in sharp focus.

I figure it’s always been that way.  And always will be, no matter what happens.  Even if Dom regrets all of this ten minutes after he drives away.  I’m prepared for that.  I can deal with it, if I must.  I can deal with a lot.  Especially if Dom is the one throwing it.

Problem is Dom hasn’t really thrown anything much at me.

Except a couple loads of cum…

I smile, even though it probably looks goofy with the expression of satiation I know is already on my face.  Sure enough, Dom looks down at me, forehead resting against mine, and laughs.  A quiet rumble of sound and sensation that tickles my overexerted body.

And then the tangled chords of “Sandstorm” breach the cocoon of silence, and I twitch involuntarily.  Dom’s brows lift.

“Work.”  Run fingertips over the faintly slick flesh of Dom’s head.  Tighten my legs around his.  “Need to get into the field office.”

Dom quirks his mouth in that half-smile and licks his kiss-bruised lower lip.  I can read his thoughts in those dark eyes and arched, equally dark brows.  Man’s mind is in the gutter, right next to mine.

“Yeah, I can think of more attractive places to get into.” I don’t have the muscle tension to laugh outright.  But I put both hands on Dom’s ass, and squeeze.

I get a grunt for my efforts.  Not sure if that is agreement or negation.  Oh well.  I am already resigned to the fact that this experience with Dom is likely to be unique – a “one and done” kinda deal.  I’m fine with that.  It’s not what I prefer, but I’ll take what’s offered and not ask for more.

I knew that much five years ago when I stood there in the street, read the panic in Dom’s face, and held out those fucking keys.

“Keep that up and you won’t be going anywhere.”  Dom growls the words, a distinct vibration of every syllable.

Maybe if I had more self control I wouldn’t have moaned.  And leered up at the man, who outweighed me, while daring to repeat the gesture.  “Keep talking and I won’t want to.”

“You’re impossible.”


	11. Dom's Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words left unsaid too long.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_It’s a bitter end to a story so sweet_

_Like a long lost friend_

_That’s never found a way back to me_

_And I can’t deny these memories got me all locked up inside_

_And you hold the key._

~ Nic Chagall, Jonathan Mendelsohn, “This Moment”

 

I stare down into intense blue eyes, watch that damned mask recede.  Want to sigh in relief.  I know Brian should leave.  Ain’t about to keep him from it.  Fingerprints to run, vengeance to satisfy.

Him and me both. Letty deserves that much.

But for this moment, I want to be selfish.  Want something for myself, because I want it.  It’s been a while since I did that.  Years.  It’s difficult to be selfish.  Since I stood there and watched the pain flash across Brian’s face, something in him shattering before he held out the keys… I haven’t done much that was driven by self-interest.  Everything had a reason, and the reason always lay somewhere else.

But this… no.  This is purely me.  My needs.  Well… obviously not just mine.  Takes two to create the pool of swiftly drying stickiness adhering our skin together just now.

Two… or one bull elephant.

Mess is worth it.  So worth it.  I enjoyed watching Brian.  The man is so intense.  Throws all of him into everything he does, holds nothing back.  In that, we’re very much alike. That this isn’t any different doesn’t surprise me.

I want to bury myself in him to the hilt, claim him.

Mine.

Blue eyes, lightning-fast brain, cop-mask, scars and wounds and the rare kicked-puppy expression.  All mine, no matter what the man thinks.  Might take him some time to come around to the idea.  God knows I’m still reeling from what it means.  What it always meant, from the moment I beat Brian in that first race.

I might own him, but he always had me.

I didn’t realize it until last night – but that’s when this all started.  Brian’s own words solidified my suspicion.  Bracing on my forearms, staring down into those deep eyes… it is at once both disturbing and riveting.  Hypnotic, almost.  I could do it all day and not get bored.  I see things in his gaze that make me want to believe in myself again. Like when we’re together, we’re invincible.

Work.  Right.  Things to do.  Letty.  What’s his name, Braga.  Fenix, the fuckhead who’s dead and doesn’t know it yet.  I let the world back in, an inch at a time, feel the lax muscles in my neck and shoulders stiffen back up.

Time enough to relax later.  On a beach in the sun, with Brian kicked back next to me.  Hair a halo of sun-bleached curls again.

Brian slides his hands over my ribs again, gaze wandering down toward my mouth.  He smiles – well, leers really – and rocks his hips up against me. I want to fuck him, hard and deep. Not sure why I feel the urge right now, this strong. So intense it’s all I can think about. God, the buster is too beautiful for his own good, even without the curls.  Without the weight he desperately needs back.  Lithe, lean and hard beneath me.

He’s not going to break or bruise if I move wrong. Thrust too deep.

Oh fuck, I want to feel that.

Want to slide inside him, claim what’s mine. Mark him.

Weight braced on one arm, I slide a hand down Brian’s flank, draw my knee out to the side to push the man’s thigh up toward my waist.  Trail my palm flat down the length of lax muscle and sinew, feel the rasp of his pale, curly hair.

Brian draws his brows together, in confusion or something else, but he doesn’t say a word. No tension in his muscles. No resistance. Completely open and willing, long leg draping around my waist. “Do it, Dom.”

He shifts his leg up my side, toward my shoulder. And I frown at him, even though I hook my arm behind his knee. Want to ask if he’s sure, and lick my lips. I don’t have any lube, I don’t remember seeing any—not that I was being terribly observant.

I’m about to ask, when he growls. Reaches down, grabs me, guides me to him. Curled almost in half, he lifts his head and rests his forehead against mine. Breathing in sync with mine, and his eyes are five different colors of blue, every one intense.

He curls his hips up to meet my thrust, and just like that I’m sliding into him. No way he’s not done this before but my god he feels so good. Warm, tight friction inch by inch until I can’t go any further and he exhales, wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck.

Mine.

Maybe just for right now and no further, but right now is all there is.

All there ever was.

A quarter mile at a time.

I breathe in his scent, card my fingers through his hair, and roll my hips. Slow, deep strokes. He groans, and the sound rolls down my spine like the spark of ignition. I thrust deep and hold him there, have to close my eyes or the sight of him arching against me, head digging back into the pillow, is going to send me over the edge.

This quarter mile isn’t a race.

In fact, I think rolling to a stop and sliding it into park for a while sounds damn good.

Anything to make this quarter mile last longer. Forever would be nice.

I feel his lips and teeth on my ear, and then he’s sucking my earlobe. Teeth scraping down my neck. I can’t remember mentioning how much of a turn-on that is for me.

Don’t think I did, actually. He doesn’t stop when I growl in his ear, though. In fact, I can feel his lips curl into a smile.

Fucker is egging me on. I slide my hands down under his ass, and give him what he wants. It’s rough and wild, fast and furious. When he tenses, body clenching as he cums, he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, hard. Hands grabbing at me, fingers digging into my ass as he rolls his hips, thrusting and grinding against my stomach, holding me deep.

It tips me over. So intense, I must black out for a few seconds. Because all I know is his ragged breathing is puffing against my cheek, neck, shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest moving me like a storm-tossed sea.

His arms around me, fingers slick against my sweat-damp skin.

Lips brushing against my temple. Trying to be gentle, I unhook my elbow from behind his knee, let him straighten his leg. Palm the muscles of his thigh, feeling his skin, his heat. Easing away the tension.

“Dom?”

“Hmm.” He laughs, arms tightening around me when my chest vibrates his body. I repeat it again, indulging him. Don’t want him to let go, not just yet.

“Whatever happens, I got your back.”

He feels so good beneath me, I don’t want to move. But this is important. I prop up on my forearms, meet his gaze. Study the somber expression on his face. What a way to switch gears on a guy, Bri. Fuck.

“You’re giving me this one?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just holds my gaze, no trace of laughter left.

Not sure why I asked that way. He’s given me so much already.

I nod, understanding. Touch my forehead to his.

His phone rings again, and he sighs, slaps at my hip.

I ignore the obvious reminder of reality and just hold his gaze.

He stills, nostrils flaring. His eyes get watery, and when he blinks, a tear tracks down toward his hairline from the corner of his eye. “Don’t.” The single syllable plea is a hoarse whisper.

It makes my eyes burn, but even though it hurts, rips at things inside me, I don’t waver.

“Not right now. Please, Dom.” He shakes his head, has that same look I recall from the night Vince and I found him sneaking out of Hector’s garage.

“If not now, then when?” There might not be a later. Don’t know that I can wait another five years.

Right here, right now? I don’t know if I can go another five minutes.

Sometimes things need said. The need to voice it becomes a physical burden. Do I have the right to weigh him down with my feelings? Is that how he would see it?

“I remember your voice. When you were screaming my name.” I don’t need to say more than that. The fight deflates from him like air pressure from a slashed tire. “I hear it, most nights. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen you show fear.”

He steadies and blinks again, another tear tracking down his temple. He rests a hand on my left shoulder, tracing fingertips over what was once a dislocated joint.

“This doesn’t have to be a quarter mile of highway.” I don’t want it to be. I don’t let myself want things very often. But the things I feel, I have a desperate urge to express. Somehow. I just don’t know how. Or where to start.

“It never was, Dom.” His hand slides up to my neck, his touch warm and solid, grounding me. Easing away the urgency, clarity taking its place. “But let’s take it a quarter mile at a time, okay?”

 

###

 

I rest one hand on the Chevelle’s wheel as Braga’s men go over it with their device.  Follow them in the mirrors, without moving my head.  The chill running up my spine isn’t concern for myself.

In the electric blue Skyline, Brian’s face is a careful mask.  But I know what to look for.  The cording tendons in his neck.  Damn it, buster better get rid of whatever device the feds put in that car.  Don’t want this deal blown before I get a shot at that bastard Fenix.  And it’ll be blown if the device pings on Bri’s car.

Because it won’t go well for him.

And I won’t stand by while they kill him.

Not like they did Letty.

Bastards won’t take anyone else from me.

Definitely won’t take my cop.

Every muscle in my body is tense, ready to react.  I’m walking through the motions of attack scenarios in my head. Bri relaxes back into his seat just as the beef with the device reaches his door.  Walks past.  No ping.

He trashed it.  Off the radar, now.  Whatever is going to happen, wherever we’re being taken – we’re well and truly on our own.

Bri stares.  Mask firmly in place.  Unresponsive.  Cool, collected.  That’s good.  We’ll both need it.  Much as I want to do this, much as I’d do it no matter what the cost…  It’s a nice feeling to know Bri has my back no matter what goes down.  When I make my move, that Skyline will be right there on my bumper.

No matter the cost.

Just like old times.

I massage the leather steering wheel cover with one hand, twisting it in agitation.  Those damn blue eyes.  Even two car lengths away, the vibe pouring off the man is strong.  Can feel Bri’s presence like a breeze brushing up against my skin.

Fingertips down my spine.  Tongue following the shell of my ear.  Teeth grazing my neck.

God, I need to stop.  Think about something else.  Letty, softer, quieter.  Silk scarf flapping in the breeze as we cruised down the coast road in Guatemala.  Rough and cocky, clinging to the hood of my Grand National, fifty miles an hour, in reverse.

Screaming my name, “Dom!”

A muscle in my shoulder twitches in memory, hand clamping on the gear shift.

Okay.  So that isn’t working.  I close my eyes, an exaggerated blink.

Out of nowhere, Brian is standing in the drive beside the orange Supra.  Sidearm up and trained on me, “No more running!”

Exhale slowly, force my eyes open.  More honest advice has never been given me.  Shame it took this long to realize it.  Now I just have to figure out how the hell to put it to use.

Those kinds of things never came easy to me.  Prefer the obvious, cut and dry things.  Someone hurts one of mine.  I do something about it.  I never managed to figure out who’d hurt who more, last time.  We all walked away damaged, even Bri.

Or, maybe especially Bri?

None of us were the same.  Leon hit the road.  Vince did some time in intensive care, but that was it. Nothing they could hold him for.  Mia did her best to get on with life, signed up for nursing classes.  Nobody even whispered of Snowman in my hearing.

Maybe they’d realized it, even when I refused to.  I wondered.  I wondered about a lot of things.  People do that more, when they get older.  No question about me being old.  Too old to play rebel on the run, like nothing and no one matters except me.

The past few years with surrogate family drove that home like nothing else.

And then Bri, my very own Hailey’s Comet come back to orbit me.

I depress the clutch and slam the Chevelle into gear harder than it needs.  Ease the big tank backwards onto the transport’s hydraulic ramp.  Don’t care about much; except I really don’t want Bri to drift out of my orbit again.  This morning… only served to reinforce that.

I have to do this, though.  Know Brian does too, for his own reasons.  I didn’t give much thought beyond that.  Until now.  What happens after?  Useless.  God knows if we’ll even see the other side of this.  I’m not one for wasting energy on useless crap.

The corner of my mouth quirks up as I watch the blue Skyline ease into place in front of me.  Some would probably say I’d wasted all kinds of energy just this morning.  Not a waste though.  Bri … far from useless crap.  That much I know.  Deep down.  The fed’s gaze meets mine over our steering wheels.  Right smack in front of me.  I can’t, or I’ll bend him over the hood and to hell with what the other two drivers think.

Only way not to look at the blonde is to close my damned eyes.

Mine.  Heat and lust surge through every inch of me.  Pulse hammering.  Cock twitches.  Closing my eyes sounds like a good idea, actually.  Catnap.  Stop thinking.  Clear the mind.  One objective right now.  Everything else has to wait.  One thing at a time.

Takes a while before Bri no longer stares back at me from the dark side of my eyelids.

 So of course the pair of brainless twits locked up with us don’t give me peace.

Antsy.  Nervous.  Pinging like fifth-graders with ADHD.  I open my eyes a fraction, just enough to see Brian.  He looks up, must have been fiddling with his phone.  Damned optimist.  Metal trailer.  Probably put in a jammer for good measure.  I twitch the corner of my mouth, Brian rolls his eyes.

“Cuz it don’t matter where we’re going.”  Being paid to drive, not think.  Good damned thing for them, too.  They wouldn’t have gotten hired to begin with.

We unload in the ass end of nowhere.

“Welcome to Mexico, gentlemen.”

I wonder if she said the same thing when Letty stood here.  Bet Letty didn’t like her much.  Hate the way she looks at me.  Like I’m a prize stallion available for stud.  Don’t have much in the way of dating experience.  They all look at me that way.  Don’t have to try picking women up, they do the work for me.  Boring.

Something to be said for a challenge.

Bri’s looking, too.  Can feel his gaze, makes my skin warm.

“Where’s Fenix?”  Impatient to get a piece of this twat.  Really.  The sooner I’m done with this, the better.  Got a fucking distraction in the back of my mind.  Rooting around.  Digging in.  And it’s not this leggy brunette.

Twenty percent angel, eighty percent devil.  All male.  Every last glorious inch of him.

Not looking.  Nope.

“He’ll meet up with you out there.  Synch up, boys.”

Oh, two of us already are.  Everyone else can play “catch up.”

Makes me want to laugh.  I roll my shoulders, stretch my neck, and slide back into the Chevelle.  Skyline revs to life beside me.  Three-tap, sounds like the car is talking.

Got your back.

Sure enough, Bri takes up the rear when we rip off across the desert.

Dark landscape, black as pitch, driving with no lights.  By GPS alone.  It’s a strange adrenaline rush unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.  Overshadowed by my frustration and impatience.  Fenix is my only goal here.  When he slides into the lead out of nowhere, in that green Torino, I want nothing more than to throw the Chevelle at him.  Take him out any way I can.  Trade more than just paint with him. Rage is so sudden, it tunnels my vision.


	12. Brian's Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A narrow field of focus is what I've got.  
> I'm a wild card because nobody ever knows what my agenda is.  
> Problem is...right now? Neither do I.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_And through it all_

_I’m on your side now…_

_If they try to hurt you_

_I’ll tear them down._

_~Cosmic Gate, “Be Your Sound”_

 

The gunmetal gray Chevelle drifts out of line, crawling toward the Torino.

“Not now, Dom… Fuck!” Nobody to hear me cuss. Giselle barks at him over the radio, get back in line, the tension in her voice almost palpable. This run might have no room for error, but a clean ride isn’t our goal. Theirs, but not ours. It’s Braga, but it’s Fenix, too.

We’re driving straight at a cliff face, and it’s getting way too close. The tunnels, whatever that is, wherever that is. Better be up here somewhere. Dom’s going to be a smear on the local landscape in a few moments. No room for error. Damn it, Dom. Make your move or get back in line already…

He can’t pull up alongside the Torino, not running alone when Fenix has the other drivers pushing him along like the lead car in a NASCAR stock race. In the moment that I make the decision to blow our ace, expose our connection, and twist off behind the Chevelle…Dom falls back and eases into his spot. And they whip into the mountainside.

“Nice, bro. Nice way to strip ten years off my life. Buttmunch.” I throw obscenities at his tail lights. Through claustrophobia-inducing tunnels, tight S turns and weaves with less room for error than cattle cutes in a construction zone on the 101.

When we pull to a stop in the rendezvous location, I’ve regained an edge of calm and focus. Taking stock of men and weaponry, assets, layout, exit routes and strategies. All in the time it takes Braga’s henchmen to yell us out of the cars. Chills drag up my spine. Hairs standing up everywhere. This is what happened to Letty. She dropped of the radar—for the same reason I did. I glance at Dom, but the man is just sitting there. Only, I knows he’s not. Stall, give him a chance to do whatever. He’s up to something, attention focused inside the car even if his gaze hasn’t dropped from staring at Fenix.

I can imagine the gears turning in his head. Counting the times he’d been close, so close. Enough to wreak his vengeance without all this. I can almost feel his pain.

It echoes through me, a razor-sharp edge of guilt and loss there and gone as I force it away and focus. Pop the door and climb out before the muscle gets a happy trigger finger.

Come on, Dom. Move that ass a little faster.

I won’t hesitate to save it if need be, but damn it if we blow this we might not get another shot.

Ha, shot. Like the one that took Letty out. Fucking Fenix.

Put her down like a rabid animal. Horse with a broken leg.

First-class asshat.

Obviously Dom is rubbing off on me more than I realized. And not in the good way.

Mind, gutter, out. Stay focused.

Braga’s men transfer the cache from each car into the back of the H2. Nice wheels, especially for this terrain. Desert scrub, badlands. No asphalt to be seen for miles. The interaction between Dom and Fenix swiftly escalates into a heated confrontation, everyone is staring at them. I scope out who’s carrying what, twitch and fiddle my way within range of a grimy-looking ‘spic with an oversized magazine in his semi-automatic. That would do nicely, when the time comes.

Then the Chevelle explodes.

Everyone flinches, distracted – I knock greasy boy to the ground, elbow to his gun arm, weapon goes sliding. I lock on Dom and Fenix. Gun, where’s the man’s gun… All of Braga’s men are armed, this is about to get messy.

I struggle with the fact that he just destroyed a beautifully restored piece of American muscle.

In the name of vengeance. He channeled all that blood and sweat into it for this task alone, and destroyed it without the slightest hesitation.

Makes me wonder what he would’ve done if he’d been driving his Charger instead. Probably the same thing. The man’s grieving. Tapped into instinctive, reactive behavior. Has a goal in mind and will plow through anything and everything to get to it.

Fenix’s handgun is in the dirt a good distance from them. The overloaded semi-automatic has enough ammunition to give Dom some cover. Picking off Braga’s men with short bursts that rip into stomachs, torsos, amputates one guy’s arm and blows straight through the eye socket of another who dives for the ground a second too late.

I’m sprawled on my knees in the dirt and feel like some Rambo impersonator. We aren’t going to last long like this. I need to get him the hell out, I know he won’t leave on his own until he’s worked his way through every last one to reach Fenix. Braga’s men have a swarm of backup, that’s how the underside of the city operates. Might be hell and gone from LA at the moment, but that doesn’t mean squat when you throw money at men the way Braga and his ilk do.

The Hummer’s lights are on. I fire off one last burst so Dom has a bit of leeway, and book it for the beast. Just as I scramble into the driver seat, Dom stiffens. Turns, staring at one of Braga’s men who has a handgun trained on him. Shit. Impact in his shoulder. Dom just stands there, staring at the person who shot him. A twinge, maybe? Or did it tickle?

I gun the behemoth to life. Slide it right up beside Dom and lean over to throw the passenger door open.

Just like old times. Shit got messy. “Get the fuck in the car, Dom!” I have to yell more than once, and not just because this thing roars. Have to slice through the blanketing rage in the man. He needs to snap the fuck out of it.

Dom’s head comes up slowly, dark gaze glittering at me over his shoulder.

“Come on!”

For a few precious seconds, he just stares at me. Then he blinks, comes back into himself. Takes longer than I expected it would. Emotionless visage, faintly spattered with blood. He finally gets his ass in the passenger seat and I get us the fuck outta there as fast as the terrain and the Hummer will allow. Hear stone and grit grate the undercarriage a few times, don’t care.

Lead foot. Don’t stop. Wouldn’t stop for anything, not even some kid’s dog. Or even a kid.

Okay, yeah, I’d have the presence of mind to swerve, but nothing short of Dom needing CPR would get me to let up on the accelerator.

The man is quiet. Still as stone. Left hand braced on the dash, right hand in his lap. I want to pull over and make sure the bullet isn’t still in him. I suck at field dressing.

“It’s just a nick.” Dom doesn’t look at me. He must feel me staring. Road, yeah. Gotta watch the road. I focus on keeping it within fifteen of the speed limit once we hit pavement. Off-road tread humming against the asphalt, the melodic sound soothing my nerves. We’re away. Both in one piece. Sorta.

And we have the haul, whatever it is, in the back. Might not have Fenix, or Braga for that matter, but I know we can work something. All the trouble the man went through to get it in the country, he isn’t going to let it go so easy.

Dom comes first, though. The irony of once again playing “getaway driver” for the man isn’t lost on me.

It isn’t lost on Dom, either. “We can’t keep meeting like this.”

“What can I say, I like saving your ass.” I glance over at him, but he doesn’t look at me. I wonder if he’s still stuck in that dead-zone trance. Unable to feel anything. I wouldn’t doubt for a second that he had a flashback to that time he was holding a three-quarter-inch socket wrench.

“Bullshit.” He doesn’t move anything but his lips and tongue. No intonation in his voice.

“Use more words.”

“You use too many. ‘Saving’ got nothing to do with it.”

I cough into my hand, covering my laugh. It’s a valid point. I can’t say I spent a great deal of time noticing his ass. More his way of moving, the package deal, the attitude… and of course the eyes. I glance over. Love his eyes. Dom could tell a story without saying a word.

Right now they’re dull and lifeless. Part of the darkness is just the dark, but not all of it. He’s absorbing what Fenix said to him. Reliving every word.

“Thought I’d lost you for a few minutes back there.” I don’t even want to bring it up, but I’ve seen it happen before. He described it happening, too, and I’m not sure which one is more disturbing—the description of it, in the garage with the Charger sitting there making it feel like we were invading some monster’s lair while it slept, or actually witnessing the reality of it. Of Dom losing awareness as his entire being focused on doing violence. On killing. He hasn’t learned to disengage. His throttle is stuck in the “furious” position.

He turns to look at me, and I hold his gaze—steady and searching. I’m not challenging, but trying to understand exactly what it was that happened back there.

“You did.” He licks his lips and glances back at the road. Just like that, he found his way back from wherever he’d gone in his thoughts. And I take a deep breath, feeling just a little bit limp with relief. “Used to piss me off when Letty and Mia would make me break up fights. They didn’t get it.”

“You get involved, can’t disengage.”

“Yeah, something like that. I shut down.”

Well, not really. Far from it. But I know what he means.

“That scares you.”

“What I’m capable of, yeah. Scares most people.” Not unusual. Lack of control scares most people.

“You don’t frighten me, Dom.” He’d listened when I called his name, after all. I’d gotten through to him. Not that I would’ve minded if he killed the guy. We just didn’t have time for it.

“I know I don’t. ” When I flash a lopsided grin at him, the line of his mouth relaxes, features softening as he laughs softly. “But then, you’ve never been normal. I like your kind of crazy, buster.”

“No, I’m not normal. But you got a darker side.” An understatement. His dark side is part of what keeps me in his orbit. The dark in him is beautiful, intoxicating; it highlights the humanity and softness in him. “Hell, I have a dark side, too. So what. Everyone does. Yours is stronger than most, sure. It’s part of you, who you are.” He has to find a way to accept that, or it’ll destroy him. So many people respect him because he’s a soft-spoken, mild-mannered man—who won’t hesitate to rip the arm off anyone who does wrong to him or his.

His code.

That’s one of the reasons I handed him the keys to the Supra that day. I respected his code, still do. He may not live by the letter of the law, but he has more honor than most law enforcement personnel I’ve encountered over the years.

Letty had been his. Mia is his. The whole team. Not about ownership so much as that bond of family that goes beyond blood, about responsibility and commitment and something I’d never experienced before. Whatever it is, they’re his. And he’s mine, which is why I handed him those keys. Protecting what was mine, the only way I could. They never would’ve let up on him if I’d been with him then. That’s what I keep telling myself. What I’ve told myself for the past few years, putting that role of rogue cop to good use. The Feds ate that shit up, using it to expose holes and moles in organizations in Miami and LA.

Empty success, on the surface. But every piece of the past five years has had a purpose. Building up my clout so that I can help win Dom back his freedom. Even more than that, it’s been about proving my worth to him. Despite the fact that he hasn’t been looking, hasn’t been paying attention, hasn’t noticed any of it.

I keep hoping that one day he will.

But I don’t have any illusions that he has. Despite everything he said last night, perched on the bumper of the Chevelle. Regardless of what he said this morning, too. I can’t bring myself to believe it just yet. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.

How much weight can you give to what someone says while buried balls-deep in you? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Take it a quarter mile at a time. I can’t cope with more than that. I don’t know how. Not right now, not with a stash of drugs in the back, a drug lord about to be seriously pissed off, and I still haven’t told him about Letty…

“We need to hide.” I weave my way along the outskirts, and stop at an underpass.

“I got a place. This thing’s hot, though. Gonna need a different ride.”

I glance him while digging the cheap cell out of my pocket. He has a place. That explains why they’ve been failing so utterly at bringing him in. When will they figure out that he isn’t stupid just because he’s an ex-con and a criminal? Even I knew he wasn’t going to hang at his old place. Fuck.

“Your place is good. You want Chinese?” It feels like a cheap date or something, so I bat my eyes and go with it. He barks a laugh, shakes his head, but doesn’t answer, so I push the door open and slide out of the truck. “I’m gonna make a phone call. Need a signal.”


	13. Dom's Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priorities, we have them.
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)

_The tension is here_

_Between who you are_

_and who you could be,_

_Between how it is_

_and how it should be._

_~Switchfoot, “Dare you to move”_

 

When I climb out of the Hummer, the blood loss and pain catch up with me.

Like a baseball bat upside the head. Contact high from a clambake. Floating outside my own body. Blood-soaked sleeve trickles a steady stream down over my hand, off my finger to the asphalt.

“I want Fenix in pieces.” There’s no rage now. That silly sack of shit is a puffed-up little man. Still a threat. The small men, the bully types, they are so fucking dangerous. Took everything I had not to laugh at the man’s posturing. Acting like I should be afraid of his gun. Thought it would intimidate me. Fucking asshat. I just wanted his piece so Brian could do his thing. Run ballistics, whatever.

Because I still can’t believe she’s dead and gone. I can’t. It’s not real yet. Hasn’t sunk in.

“You’ll have him. We aren’t done with this. We get Braga, we’ll get Fenix too.” His voice is firm, solid like bedrock.

I want to believe him. A part of me does. He’s good at his job. He wouldn’t be a field agent otherwise.

He’s got this thing he does. He clings to hope with a steel grip. It’s contagious. I’m alive again when I’m around him. His determination, it seeps into me the way the sun and heat did down in Panama. Hell if I ain’t freezing my ass off up here in LA. Never thought I’d see the day I’d say this place was cold.

The sight of my blood dripping on the road shakes him up. He hovers even when I glare. Stares at me. Lowers the cell from his ear in this slow movement. It ceases to exist for him. Loud Fed voice barking on the other end just cuts off as he clicks it shut.

“You’re bleeding. Need to get you a doctor.”

Priorities, we have them. What’s Braga using street racers to run over the border. What did Letty die for? Bri worries about me bleeding out.

Part of me thinks it don’t matter because half of me is already dead.

And then I glance at him, face open and full of concern. All his focus on me.

Mourning is one thing, but life goes on.

I let him win, but only because I got my answer. Fucking drugs. A shitload of it. Sixty million.

He crowds up behind me and pulls the leather jacket off my shoulders. His hand is firm as he pushes me down onto the Hummer’s bumper. Got no problem with Bri taking control. Sometimes he makes good decisions. And I’m too exhausted to resist. Running on fumes. Calm and methodical, he digs a first aid kit out of the vehicle. Cuts my sleeve off.

“Can’t take you to an ER.”

“No.” They’d have to notify authorities. SOP for a gunshot wound.

“Mia could fix you up.”

“No.” The word is more of a growl. Brian’s hand tightens on my biceps. “Don’t want her in on this.”

“Out of choices right now. She’ll get a kick out of practicing on you while saying ‘I told you so’ over and over.” He’s watching me. Not hovering, but right there, close. Concern in the hunch of his shoulders.

I could tell him I’m fine but he won’t buy it. So I give him a lop-sided smile. He’s damn lucky I don’t grab him by the neck and kiss him. He wipes away the blood with the half-soaked sleeve of my shirt. “How’d that phone call go?”

He blows off my question. “Can’t tell if the bullet is in there. Needs cleaned and stitches, at least. Bandage for now though. Get you to your place. She know where?”

“Yeah. Give her a call. Tell her you wanna talk.” He fumbles the gauze package, eyes wide. “You two need to clear the air. Estranged lovers making amends. Feds won’t bat an eye.” He nods, not looking away. So much in those blue eyes. Too much. I stare at the five trunk cases. “Gotta hide this bitch first. Get something less conspicuous.” A tough feat. Fucking Hummers are not low profile. Not with a fortune in drugs shoved in the back.

“I got that covered.” Brian folds up a pack of gauze and tapes it into place. He’s more careful than he needs to be. I’ve hurt worse.

“You do, huh?” I clench my jaw and ease the jacket back up my arm.

“You trust me?” He tugs at my jacket and glances at me. There’s a note of humor in his tone.

I stare at him. Silence drags out but he doesn’t drop his gaze. Good. “You really asking me that.” Through his humor his question is sincere. “If I didn’t? I would’ve used a condom.”

“Right.” He cleans away the kit and mess of bloody cloth. “Probably should have anyway come to think of it.”

“No need.” I leave him to close up the back and head for the passenger side door. End of conversation.

“Don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” He’s there at my back, holds the door out of my way while I climb in. Not helping, but there at my back all the same.

I settle into the seat and breathe deep, then look at him. Really look at him. Somber, steady gaze. Something fragile in his eyes. This is one of those moments where I can see that hungry puppy look still. I take in all of him, stonewash jeans, polo shirt, looking like a nondescript average Joe Shmoe. Undercover Fed. I wonder if time darkened his hair or if the Feds got their own salon. Makes him look older, harder. Or maybe he really is. He’s got his shield sliding back into place. Pulling away. Leery, braced to protect himself. “What it means. It means home. Where you can let your guard down. Goes both ways. Get in.”

He nods and pushes the door until I grab it. Not the best time to talk about this. But life showed me to take what I’m given. Including quiet moments for conversation. “You weren’t much of a friend back then.”

“Not even to myself.” He nods and cants his hips up to dig his cell out of his pocket. A peek of skin shows above the waistline of his jeans, sharp hips and strong obliques. “Why’d you decide to give me another chance?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Bri.”

“You should.” Fingers on the key in the ignition, his chin drops. “After Mia’s got you patched up.”

“Nothing wrong with now.”

He slams his palm into the steering wheel. Breathes deep. Cranks the beast to life and revs the engine, roars off down the street.

The flare of violence, venting frustration. Familiar. I remember how he was when his cool slipped. “Waiting for things to slip into neutral first? You know better. Life’s always gonna give you a reason not to say what you don’t want to. Don’t lose your cool, Snowman.”

“Never thought I’d see you again.” His eyes are on the mirrors, the road, anywhere but me. “I was yours anyway.”

I knew that. Know that. He was rough around the edges when he took to hanging out at the diner, years ago. When he started that assignment. Didn’t know shit. Not that I did either. We were both a little young and a whole lot dumb. He just lied real well.

“I tore your life apart. Your family to pieces.”

“That what you think? You just made a spark, lit the fuse.” I lick my lips and glance at him. Stare back out the windshield at the city blanketed in night. Too bright, too loud. The fumes and smog burn my nose and eyes. And it’s fucking cold as balls. Can’t seem to get warm. A world away from Panama City. Words still don’t come easy. For Bri, though. For him I try. “Everyone makes their own decisions. You trying to take the blame for those? That’s wasted energy. Pointless. No matter how much you want to. Not your burden. Not even when you love them. Maybe especially not then.”

Letty was…Letty. Pure and simple. Blunt and straightforward. Nothing could replace her. Not Mia, not Giselle, not the Charger, not Brian. None of them try, none of them want to.

There are as many kinds of love in this world as there are people. No two the same.

Mia and Vince come to mind.

Mia and Letty, who came back to her when Vince didn’t bother.

Shocks me that Brian’s still here. Hasn’t turned me in. Won’t turn me in. Back there in David Park’s apartment, I told him he wasn’t anyone’s friend. In a way it’s the truth. Maybe not that. But something. Intangible, fluid, undefinable. He’s always been that. Not for the first time, he had a loaded gun at my back. I knew he wouldn’t shoot. Taunted him for it, but I knew. He’s never turned his back on me. Not even when I turned it on him. He’s always let me be the one who walks away first.

That’s family.

That’s home. Where the heart is.

Fuck.

Is this what Letty really wanted? To bring me back so I could heal. Make amends and piece things back together.

Stupid to wonder. Not like there’s a way to get an answer. When I look at Bri, a pang goes through my chest. It ain’t the bullet wound. Not sure what it is. I don’t like it. Despite that, because of it, I watch him. Let myself feel it, soak it in.

This is what being alive is.

My time in Panama City was purgatory in comparison. Separated from everything important to me. In a coma, like Brian’s dad. Except I wasn’t stuck in a hospital bed. The silence drags out. He’s careful not to look at me. My words opened cracks he doesn’t know how to cope with. I can see that much in the way he grips the steering wheel.

The way his voice sounds when he finds it again. “Need a forty-eight hour hold.”

Ballsy as ever, driving into an impound lot. That’s my Snowman. He parks the Hummer between a full-size SUV and a Lincoln version of a tank in one slick move.

I wouldn’t believe what he just did if I hadn’t watched him. This thing is a beast. He handles it with familiar ease. Same way he made that rice-burner dance when he saved my ass. The first time. Always saving my ass.

He sees me looking at him and smiles as he turns off the ignition.

I just raise my brows.

“I can drive anything, man.”

“Still a buster.” I open the door and ease out of the cab, trying to baby my shoulder. The throb is getting worse. He waits for me at the front bumper, that tight edge of worry around his mouth as he takes in the set of my shoulders. No doubt reading pain in my body language. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t touch. Feels good all the same, walking at his shoulder again, close enough to give me his strength. His warm energy seeps into me and the heat feels good. The pain slides away a little. Just enough to focus.

“Yeah well, this time you owe the buster a ten-second car.” Taunting me, trying to draw me out and distract me.

“How you figure that?” Right now, we need something low profile. His idea of a ten-second car was a sorry excuse of a thing. A husk with a heart, barely breathing.

“When you blew up your car, you blew up mine. So I figure you owe me now.”

We need a ride, may as well make a game of it. I can hear the edge in his voice. He’s got ghosts riding his ass. Last time he saw me wounded, he handed me his keys and I ran. This time isn’t like that. Won’t be like that. That’s a choice I’ve made. Am making. Not running away from this. Letty deserves vengeance. Nobody fucks with my family and walks away.

That import there resembles something a soccer mom would drive. Perfect revenge. I elbow the driver side window out and hold the door open for him. “Now we’re even.”

He steps close. His smile is faint. Still, it eases the tension in his face. Doesn’t reach his eyes but it’s a start. “You think?”

“Close enough.”

He edges a little closer. “Yeah?”

“For now.” He wakes my body in ways it hasn’t for years. Not without a big-block Hemi and a few shots of NOS getting involved at least. Pulse racing, heart pounding. Like that flush of lust that comes with a crush. Except this ain’t nothing like that. Hell and gone from it.

“I’ll let you off easy this time. You won’t be so lucky again.”

“Counting on it.”


	14. Brian's Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension comes in various flavors.
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](http://statcounter.com/)  
> 

_But would you leave me_

_If I told you what I’ve done_

_And would you leave me_

_If I told you what I’ve become._

_\- Florence + The Machine, “No Light, No Light”_

 

The keys are tucked in the visor. I have to move the seat back a good bit. Fucking soccer moms and their SUV’s. Dom slides in, has the same problem; I reach over and grab the lever under his seat before he has a chance.

It gets me a glare for my troubles. “I’m a big boy, you know.”

I lift my chin and glare right back. “Yeah, I do. Definitely noticed that this morning. You can shut up now.”

Bastard grabs me by the nape before I can sit back or move away. His grip is tight, strong, heavy. Warm, grounding and reassuring. He stares at me, dark eyes flicking down to my mouth. My entire body flushes with heat; I’m tinder and Dom’s the spark. It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is. I drag in a ragged breath and start to pull away when Dom’s thumb strokes that spot just behind my ear.

Dom can do whatever he wants; I won’t fight him. I close my eyes and let myself take what he gives. My brain stops working when he touches me. Stupid, illogical, but there it is. Can’t function on any higher level. It’s always been that way, always. Gentle and unhurried, Dom’s lips brush against mine. The contact whispers of gratitude and subdued lust and a hundred other things. Fingers relaxing, sliding around the front of my neck, fingertips down the center of my chest, as Dom pulls back.

I stare at him in disbelief, then twist back into the seat and slip the car into gear. Never get a chance to lift my hand away. Dom’s palm pins mine to the gearshift. Warm and calloused, as comfortable as any other fond memory I have.

Just like old times.

Something that feels this good shouldn’t hurt this much.

“She can’t know what we’ve been up to.”

I’m not to blame for the way the Subaru swerves as I palm the steering wheel through the turn out of the impound lot. A few coughs clear my windpipe of the spit I just choked on. “What?”

“Mia. She didn’t know about what Letty got involved in. I wanna keep it that way. Less she knows, the better off she is.”

“You want me to lie to her.” I tighten my hands on the steering wheel and count a four-beat inhale, pause, four-beat exhale. My stomach clenches anyway, burns its way up my throat.

“I want you to help me protect her. She has a life of her own now. Don’t want her tangled up in this.”

One lie piles on top of another. It never ends. It’s fine, I’ve told her what she wanted to hear a few times already. I never hesitate to lie for Dom these days. To him, no. For him, for his, sure. Sometimes the lines blur.

Like with the whole Letty thing. He still doesn’t know just how it went down. Doesn’t know what I know. What I’ve done. How do I tell him about my involvement? How do you tell someone who’s your world that you had a hand in killing theirs?

Nothing’s ever mattered more than he does. Not in a real long time. Just the thought of broaching that subject with him makes my stomach sink into my feet, so hard and fast I get lightheaded and sick.

It will go badly, regardless of when it goes down or how. There’s just no two ways about it. There’s only one thing I fear in this life. It’s seeing that look on his face again. That look he gave me while Vince lay sprawled between us on the ground bleeding out through a severed artery and I made the call that saved his life and blew my cover and destroyed Dom’s trust and broke his heart.

Some things can be rebuilt. I cling to the hope that they can, at least. It’s all I’ve got. This relationship between us, this unlabeled thing, it feels brittle and new.

That I helped Letty when she came to me, that decision could ruin this. I had a hand in her death.

Right now I’m still weighing the odds. I want to come clean, to explain so he understands the choice I made. Because I made it for him. I want there to be nothing standing between us. Not now, not ever again. “Dom—”

His hand tightens around mine on the gearshift. “Oil rigs, up above Letty’s grave. Renting one of the old rigger apartments.”

A comfortable silence descends between us, a soft kind of energy that I don’t want to bruise with brutal honesty or brashly spoken words. Or pointless questions like, “how many nights do you stand down by her grave instead of sleeping.”

So I shut my mouth and just drive.

And try to find the right words to say to Mia. This time “I don’t know” is about as close to accurate I as I can get. Even if it was a lie when I said it to her before. I knew, I just didn’t feel comfortable discussing her brother, or my very tangled feelings for him, with her.

That much hasn’t changed. I’m not ready—scratch that, totally unprepared—to have that conversation with her. Don’t know if I could have it with Dom, let alone her. But improvisation is one of those skills that makes me the valuable agent I am. Thinking on my feet. I can do this.

I’m preoccupied with it for the rest of the drive, making turns that Dom indicates with a flick of his hand, the jut of his jaw, until I’m following nothing but his gaze. Even in the darkness I recognize the layout of the oil rigs and the general geographic location. I was right, that day at Letty’s funeral. I knew he was watching, I just didn’t consider that he was actually staying up here as well.

Or I might’ve stopped in and paid him a visit. At least been tempted to. Okay, it was for the best that I had no real idea. He leads the way inside, unlocking the small efficiency apartment with a key left in a planter by the door. It takes effort not to hover. I plant my ass on the arm of the loveseat and cross my ankles to keep from pouncing to assist as my injured partner-in-crime eases out of his leather jacket.

Dom grimaces at the blood stains, shoves his index finger through the hole. It’s enough to make me cringe and look away. Bile burns the back of my throat. The metal ripped through Dom’s flesh just as it had that cowhide. I should be used to this sort of thing; I’ve been injured on the job plenty in my years as a fed. Seen lots of other law enforcement with the same or worse. But this is different. Sweat dampens my hairline, flushing out everywhere beneath the thin material of my t-shirt… that’s proof enough. This is different because it’s Dom.

It will always be different.

At least this time I don’t have to watch him drive away. Spend weeks, months, wondering how severe his injuries are or if he lived to see Mexico. I flip my cell phone open and scroll through for Mia’s number. “Got anything to drink?”

Dom tosses the jacket over a nearby recliner and heads for the small kitchen. I trail after him and make no effort whatsoever to stop staring at his ass.

He pops the fridge open and glances back at me. “You can have anything you want to drink, long as it’s a Corona.”

I can’t help myself, I laugh. “Some things don’t change.”

He grabs two, pries the caps off on the edge of the counter.

I hit dial and hold the phone to my ear as he walks toward me fisting an open beer in either hand.

“You’re not helping me, you realize that.”

“Yeah.” Dom doesn’t stop until there’s barely an inch of space between us. It doesn’t feel like I’m looking down at him. It never has. I might have an inch or so on him but Dom always feels larger than life. Bigger than his body. Maybe that’s why his presence is so palpable, why I missed that easy bank shot at Campo’s party. Because I could feel him walk into the place, and pause to stare at me. Staring at me bent over the pool table. I wonder what ran through his mind. It wasn’t just his focus on me, though. It was that gravitas he radiates wherever he goes.

I stare at him as I grab a beer, fingers tangling with his when he doesn’t let go.

Mia picks up finally. “Hello?”

“Mia.” Dom lets go of the beer and I take a long swig. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to right now.”

“Probably.” Her tone says a thousand other things.

“I was wondering if you’d like to continue that discussion from the other day in the diner.”

The few moments of silence are deafening. Please let this work, her phone is tapped. “Is that so.”

“Yeah. I figure we’ve both got some old wounds that need patching up, wouldn’t you say? The way I remember it, you’ve got the skills for that sort of thing.” Dom’s still up in my grill, watching me, studying me. He sucks down a long swig of Corona and I get distracted watching him swallow.

She draws breath to respond, I can hear it. Nothing comes out but a long sigh. “Jeez, Brian, that’s a lot of words for you. Save a few for later. Where at?”

“There’s this little scenic spot overlooking Letty’s—”

“I know the place. On my way.” She disconnects so fast the sound of dead air makes my ear feel funny.

“She know where to come?”

Dom nods. “She used to come out here all the time after our dad died.”

“Great. Sit down before you fall down.” I should probably feel a little more like a shit, but I don’t. Whatever it takes to get Dom patched up is what I’ll do, and I can’t think of another person to call.

“I’m in no danger of that.” Dom moves to sit at the table anyway, as though humoring me, and I join him. “Wanna tell me what your little chat with my sister was about?”

“She didn’t tell you?” My circle of trust is really small. As in nonexistent. Which is unarguably pathetic, no matter how I look at it. Of course, I was deep undercover for the past five years, so this is all like time stood still, like my actual life was put on hold and I just pressed play again.

“She told me things were getting hot.”

Good. “That was the jist of it.”

“That so.”

“Come on, Dom. I may have lied about a lot of things, but I wasn’t lying when I said I cared about the both of you. Closest thing to family I got.”

“Spent a lot of time being mad at you.” Dom picks at the label on his beer, focusing on something besides me.

I’ve no idea where this discussion is going. It could be his pain talking, too. “I know. It didn’t change things for me.”

“What things.”

“Just because family’s pissed off at you doesn’t change that they’re family. I meant it. I’ve spent the past five years trying to find ways to make things right and undo what I did. Wouldn’t have mattered if you never stopped hating me.”

“Never said I hated you, Bri. Far from it. Never broke your neck, did I?”

“Still trying to figure that out.” I manage a weak laugh and take another tug of Corona. Dom’s is already half gone.

“Told you, it wasn’t Mia’s heart you broke. So you got to keep your neck. I kinda like it in one piece.” He licks his lips and watches me swallow. His gaze is like a caress, makes heat pool low in my gut.

Damn it, now is not the time. Not when he’s hurt, in pain, and Mia is on her way over. To patch him up, and have a chat with me.

Fun times.

Doesn’t make me want any less.

“When I got done being mad at you, I spent a lot of time playing through how it could’ve gone different.”

There’s that weight on my shoulders again. “Dom, you can’t change any of that.”

“Yeah. I got regrets though.”

“Yeah well you shouldn’t.” I shift in the chair and lean toward him over the table. “What you did, what we did, got us where we are right now. Here, alive, together.” I sit back and take another drink. “And I, for one, despite everything, I don’t regret that for one moment.”

There’s a car outside, Mia’s car from the sound of the super-tuned engine as it revs. I slam my Corona down on the table, gold liquid sloshing around inside. Dom doesn’t twitch, just eyes me with one brow arched, kills the last of his beer. I push to my feet, chair legs screeching against the hardwood floor, and go to let Mia in.


End file.
